


antigravity

by diskhorse



Category: Falsettos - Lapine/Finn
Genre: Angst, Character Study, F/F, F/M, Grief/Mourning, HIV/AIDS, Introspection, M/M, Platonic Relationships, Post-Canon, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-11-22
Packaged: 2019-05-31 18:57:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 47,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15125819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diskhorse/pseuds/diskhorse
Summary: The time when Whizzer really seemed to come alive was at twilight, when the sun and moon exchanged places in that sky, in that odd time where the world was suspended between day and night.  That was where Whizzer was; always caught between two extremes, caught in the balance between them.(or, a character study of marvin through the ever-changing relationships with the people in his life, pre- and post-falsettoland)





	1. nocturnal animals

**Author's Note:**

> the use of double asterisks is to show that it takes place in the past, a single asterisk means it's currently the present.   
> to make things simpler the chapters will alternate between past and present, not individual scenes, so it's not confusing.  
> updates will be every 5 days or so!  
> comments and kudos will all be really appreciated. this is the product of about 2 months of work...hopefully you enjoy!!

In his more defeatist moments, Marvin wandered downtown, past storefronts and by alley entrances where the smokers congregated, and likened Whizzer to a cigarette.He was cheap, hot, bitter, bad for your health, et cetera.And addictive.

The thing was: it could’ve been any young, horny guy at the bar that night, but it had been Whizzer.He sure as hell didn’t believe in fate or destiny or any of that, but he thought there needed to be _some_ explanation behind it.He needed someone to tell him why their two first rough encounters in the bathroom had hooked him so much, why he now has a problem seeking out anyone else.

It was possible that it was Whizzer’s _type_ that he was addicted to and not Whizzer himself, but he doubted it.He doubted it very much.

Marvin knew he should try to end this now, to ‘nip it in the bud’, as they said, before it could latch on and become an even bigger problem. The only problem was he was afraid it already had.At this point, he didn’t know if he could end it if he tried.Or if he wanted to at all.It was a strange paradox.

Right now he wasn’t feeling particularly cynical, so there wasn’t much use dwelling on what had already happened, the minutiae of his relationship with Whizzer. 

It was just after six in the early evening, but it was December, so that meant the sun had set hours ago.It’s not cold enough for snow, but mother nature is doing her damn best anyway, spitting little slushy flakes that melt on contact with the ground.Nothing will stick, but it’ll be enough to fuck up the street conditions for tomorrow morning’s rush hour.

Still, it was cold, and and the snow, as pathetic as it was, made it feel even worse.The damp chill settled into Marvin’s bones as he made for his destination.Not the parking lot; the pay-phones.

Maybe it was paranoid; there were a bank of pay-phones in the corner of his office’s lobby, anyway.But he’d used them before, and could never chase away the feeling that his conversations were being listened to.Recorded.So to avoid that fear, he made the trek in the opposite direction of the parking lot to the wall of pay-phones across the street.

He stepped into one of the walled-off booths, fed some change into the machine, and took a breath before punching in the number he’d had memorized for weeks.

It rung twice before the third was cut off with the tell-tale _click_ of someone picking up on the other end.

“Hel-lo.” Whizzer’s voice, low and even, snaking through the air and settling around him like smoke.“How’s the night out there?”

“Fine, I guess.” Marvin adjusted his grip on the receiver, fingers already going numb. “It’s snowing.”

Whizzer made a pleased noise, a hum that crackled with static as it carried over the line. “Really?I hadn’t noticed.I’ve got someone over.”

Of course he did.It felt kind of like a punch, because Whizzer _knew_ how much Marvin hated it when he had other men over.He knew, and yet he’d still picked up the phone.Just to rub it in his face, the dick.

“Right.” Marvin’s voice sounded dull even to his own ears.

“Oh, relax,” Whizzer sighed, eye-roll almost audible. “It’s the TV repairman.The cable conked out.Again.”

Ah, Whizzer’s shitty apartment with its shitty wiring.And drafts.And roaches.He needed a new goddamn place, that was for sure. “Will he be gone soon?” was what Marvin said in response.

“Don’t think so.You know how crap this place is.”

And that was the moment Marvin should’ve said _oh, alright.I guess we can do this another time._ Then he should’ve hung up the phone and retraced his steps to the parking garage, made the drive home.Maybe instead of waiting alone in the house, he could’ve surprised Jason by coming to his Scouts meeting like all the other dads did. 

Maybe if he’d known what would result from this meeting, he would’ve done just that.

But he didn’t, of course, because Marvin regretfully could not see into the future.Which is why he chose to step off the ledge and ask Whizzer, “Do you want to come to mine?”

Marvin listened to Whizzer’s static filled silence, heart pounding, in free fall.

“You’re sure?” was what Whizzer said eventually, voice surprisingly cautious.

Marvin swallowed.Whizzer had caught him, in his dirty little safety net.It would hold, for now. “I’m sure.” Was he?It was too hard to tell.He felt drunk on adrenaline. “They won’t be home for a while.” He didn’t need to specify who _they_ were.

Whizzer’s period of contemplation took only a moment. “You gonna tell me your address or not?” he asked, and Marvin’s grin echoed the wicked smile in his voice.

**

Marvin kind of regretted inviting Whizzer to use the bed, but Whizzer always let him use _his_ bed without question, as crappy as the mattress was and as sand-papery as the sheets were.So he felt it was only right to extend the same courtesy.

As Whizzer unhinged his teeth fromthe corner of Trina’s pillow, Marvin made a mental note to change the pillow cases as well as the sheets, lest Trina put her head on the same fabric Whizzer had been biting and moaning into for twenty minutes. 

Whizzer only allowed himself another few moments of recovery before he dragged himself up, swinging his legs out of bed.

“Where are you going?” Marvin asked him, still lying on his side, watching Whizzer stagger to collect his boxers off the floor.

“It’s called ‘I Need to Pee’,” Whizzer said, walking into the attached bathroom.

“Don’t piss on the floor.”

“That was you, if you don’t recall.” Whizzer switched the lamp on as he went.

Marvin sighed, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes against the brightness.

Whizzer’s voice called out from the bathroom. “What time do I have to be gone by, anyway?”

“Like, in an hour, probably,” Marvin said with a quick glance at the clock.It was 7:12. “Why?” he asked, unable to resist the urge to make a dig. “I thought you didn’t hang around after a fuck.”

Whizzer came out of the bathroom, frowning at Marvin’s mocking tone. “Well, I’ve never been here before,” he said, wiping his soapy hands on his boxers to dry them, leaving finger-shaped streaks in the fabric. “I wanna check it out.”

Marvin watched warily as Whizzer began to poke around Trina’s side of the room; surveying the items on her vanity, in her closet. “Well, don’t make a mess,” he warned. “She’ll notice something’s wrong if her stuff’s all moved around.”

Whizzer bobbed his head in acknowledgement, before making a noise of pleasant surprise. “Baccarat perfume, damn.Y’know, I worked in Saks for two years and I don’t remember anyone having the money for this.” He held up the little glass bottle, shaking it around a little as he turned around. “You buy it for her?”

Marvin scowled, not dignifying that with a response.He had, in fact, bought it for her.On their fifth wedding anniversary.It had been almost another five years since then, and the bottle wasn’t not even half used.

Whizzer didn’t even seem to care that he didn’t respond, busy spritzing a bit on the inside of both his wrists.At Marvin’s look, he rolled his eyes. “Come on, like she’d notice I’d use this much.” He put the bottle down, thankfully back where he’d found it, label turned out.

“What’s her name, anyway?” Whizzer asked after another few minutes of exploration.This time, he was holding a framed picture in his hands.It was the one taken at the Denver Zoo, what felt like forever ago.It was Marvin and Trina, who was holding a toddler Jason in her arms, posed in front of the entrance, bright smiles plastered across their faces.It had been so long since then that Marvin couldn’t tell if they were forced or not.

It only hit him then that he’d never actually told Whizzer Trina’s name.Or Jason’s, for that matter.It had always been _my wife_ and _my kid_ up until now.To Whizzer, they shouldn’t be identities, just liabilities.

“What’s her _name?_ Your wife.” Whizzer asked again, impatiently.He was looking at the picture with an uncharacteristic intensity.Usually he was so blasé, about _everything._ It was startling to see him so interested in a simple photograph.

“Trina,” Marvin tells him, the name dropping from his mouth flatly.

Whizzer’s mouth twisted a little. “Pretty name,” was all he said, before putting the picture where he’d found it.

**

It becomes something of a tradition after that.Every time Whizzer came over, which was happening with more and more frequency, he would spend a few minutes before he left looking around the bedroom, at pictures or knickknacks or other items.It appeared to be morbidly fascinating to him.

“Shit, how expensive was _this?”_ Whizzer took the long string of white pearls draped from the vanity mirror, holding them up with a questioning look. “A hundred?”

It had become a game of theirs: Whizzer would hold something up and guess at the price, Marvin would tell him how far off he was.

“Didn’t buy those,” he said. “Wedding present.So I don’t know.”

Whizzer put the pearls around his neck and turned to admire himself in the mirror. “I feel like a movie star,” he said. “A fuckin’ Elizabeth Taylor.” He tossed his head over his shoulder, winking. “Whaddaya say?”

Something in Marvin’s chest jumped at the sight.He didn’t know what it meant. “I was thinking more of an Audrey Hepburn.”

Whizzer’s face brightened. “Ooh, that’s true.” He rolled one of the pearls between his fingertips. “And I do love Audrey.”

He smirked, coming over to sit on the bed.He slid his hand along the inside of Marvin’s thigh in that delicious way that made his skin tingle.Marvin slapped Whizzer’s hand away. “Not now, you need to go soon.And take those off,” he said as an afterthought, gesturing to the necklace.

Whizzer sighed.It was amazing how he could say _Marvin, you’re such a damn disappointment_ without words.But he dutifully obeyed, removing the pearls and setting them on the bedside table.

“Always such a killjoy,” he commented, going to collect his clothes from the floor.

“I’m just saving you from an encounter with my wife.”

“I dunno,” Whizzer said, beginning the arduous task of wriggling back into his impossibly tight jeans. “Maybe I should meet her sometime.”

Marvin choked on a laugh. “You’re fucking crazy,” he said. “And you’d probably hate her, anyway.You’re nothing like her.”

Whizzer shrugged. “I’m nothing like you, either.”

And, well…Whizzer was right about that.Marvin frowned.He’d known they were different; he’d have to be fucking insane to not know that, but…he’d also kind of assumed that he and Whizzer had something in common between them.But if Marvin thought about it, he was right.They were nothing alike.

Whizzer left another five minutes or so later, departing with the usual, “You’ll see me when you see me” and a light grope at Marvin’s crotch.

A tiny gesture like that shouldn’t leave him so ridiculously aroused, but of course it did, so he dragged himself into the shower to bang it out there.Stupid Whizzer.

When Trina and Jason arrived home half an hour later, he had changed the sheets, got re-dressed, and was sitting on the couch in the den.

Jason didn’t spare him a glance before he stomped upstairs to his room, but Trina paused in the doorway, expression wavering between relieved and something more somber.

“Hi,” she said. “You’re home early today.”

It was 8:24.In the grand scheme of it all, he supposed he was.

“Yeah, we finished things up around the office a little sooner than usual for once.” He chuckled, like it was all some big joke.

All of his excuses were work related: _I have a late meeting, Trina,_ or _This case is killing us, Trina,_ or _Me and the guys are going to eat together, Trina._ Excuses he had lined up for the days where he didn’t show up til three in the morning, the smell of a bar rolling off him, far too hyped up to have been reviewing lawsuit claims.That was, if he showed up at all.

She never questioned it, though.She accepted what he gave her as cordially as Marvin now accepted her kiss on his cheek.It was stale and tired.Maybe it was a statement about their relationship.

The only other words that passed between them that night was when they were preparing for bed.Marvin was brushing his teeth, Trina taking out her earrings at her vanity, putting them away into their jewelry box.

Out of the blue, she called out, “Marv, honey?”

Marvin leaned out of the bathroom, raising his eyebrows in a silent question.

“Have you seen my pearls?” She gestured to the mirror, where the pearl necklace is strikingly, horrifyingly absent. “I could’ve sworn they were right here.”

Marvin’s blood froze in his veins. _That son of a bitch.He fucking didn’t._

“I’m not sure,” he said, feigning calm with enough conviction that the Academy should consider him for next year’s awards. “Maybe last time you wore them you took them off somewhere else.”

Trina’s mouth tightened around the edges. “Maybe,” she murmured. “I’ll look for them in the morning, though.”

Marvin ducked back into the bathroom to spit and rinse, and all the while his pulse was racing.That fucking _asshole._ What the hell was wrong with him?

Whizzer had done some fucked up things before, but _this_ definitely topped the list.Fucking _stealing._ What was he thinking?

He was just thinking of the best way to approach things when Trina’s voice rang out from the bedroom. “Oh, here they are!”

When Marvin re-entered the bedroom, he found Trina carefully picking up the necklace - from where Whizzer had left it on the bedside table earlier.She smiled at him in relief, and he smiled back, but for a different reason.

_So, Whizzer’s not evil incarnate.Good to know._

As soon as Trina turned her back to go hang them up, Marvin dropped his head, allowing himself to quietly sigh.He should’ve been more careful about that. 

Trina switched the corner lamp off, plunging the room into darkness.The green numbers of the alarm clock glowed all the brighter.It was a quarter to twelve.

He couldn’t help but wonder what Whizzer was doing at this time. 

The time when Whizzer really seemed to come alive was at twilight, when the sun and moon exchanged places in that sky, in that odd time where the world was suspended between day and night.That was where Whizzer was; always caught between two extremes, caught in the balance between them.

It was far past twilight now, but Whizzer was still probably out in the city, living it up with the other nocturnal animals.Marvin had no doubt that was where he was, dancing and screwing the night away, heart pumping fire through his veins.

He turned to the other side as Trina crawled into bed; they were long past kissing each other goodnight.

After a moments pause, she said, “I wonder how my pearls got there, though.I hadn’t worn them for a while.”

“You probably just forgot you put them there,” Marvin told her.He was looking out the window, not really present in the conversation, wishing he was somewhere else.

“You’re probably right,” she said after a moment.Then she to settled down next to him.

Marvin closed his eyes and tried not to think about anything, especially Whizzer and especially the way he could feel Trina’s eyes staring at his back

**

That weekend marked the time Trina made her annual pre-Hanukkah trip to her parents’ house.As always, she extended that invitation to Marvin, and as always, Marvin declined.

Trina had sighed, but accepted his answer without question.Her parents had never liked Marvin, at least not since he’d knocked up their twenty-two year old daughter before she’d found a job post-college and before they were even engaged.Visits to their domicile were strenuous at best.

On Friday night, she packed her luggage and Jason into their car and departed for their house upstate.Marvin watched through the window as the car pulled out of the driveway and drove off, tracking the headlights as they bobbed along in the dark until they disappeared.

On any other night, Marvin would be at the phone already, calling Whizzer and inviting him over, waiting impatiently in the den for his arrival.But tonight he made for the liquor cabinet instead, cracking into a bottle of scotch and pouring himself a glass at the table in the dining room.

Ever since Tuesday he’d been unable to put what Whizzer had said out of his mind.

_I’m nothing like you, either._

He had no business being so obsessed with it.It was such a mundane comment, he had no _reason_ to be this hung up over it.

Except, the thing is, Marvin had kind of managed to convince himself that the reason he and Trina hadn’t worked, had never clicked in the first place, was because _they_ were too different.

But he’d started to realize that he and Trina had always been more similar than he’d allowed himself to believe.They were both proper and insecure and paranoid and obsessed with self-image.Whizzer was none of those things.He was loud, flamboyant.Reckless and unabashed.Everything Marvin wasn’t, but wished he could be.

He ran his finger around the rim of his glass, staring at the amber liquid but not drinking it.He felt sick enough already.

Sometimes he wished he had never met Whizzer, _sometimes_ meaning right now.If any other pretty boy had sat at the bar beside him, if Marvin hadn’t chosen to go to _that_ bar on _that_ night, would he even be in this position, questioning everything he’d forced himself to believe?

He had started to realize recently that it wasn’t Whizzer’s _type_ that he was attracted to at all.He had fucked guys like him before, and they shared the same general personality traits, but without anything to balance them out.They were cocky, but without the charm.Snarky, but not witty.They lacked what made Whizzer… _endearing._

He’d started to realize that he didn’t _want_ anyone else anymore.That he wanted Whizzer for more than just his face or body.And that scared him more than he could really say.

Whizzer made him feel so good, was the thing - not just in bed, but whenever he was around.He felt newer, younger, _alive._ He felt so good around him.

He wanted to feel good tonight.

Abruptly, he stood and made a beeline for the phone in the kitchen.He could’ve blamed the drink for the way his pulse was rabbiting, his hands shaking, but he hadn’t drunken a thing.His glass remained on the table, untouched. 

The phone rang five times before it was sent to voicemail, and Marvin’s heart sunk to his shoes.God, Whizzer was _out._ Or busy.Either way, it felt kind of like a punch. 

He hated knowing that Whizzer had so much dominion over his life these days while he remained such a small, unimportant piece of Whizzer’s.

Marvin was about to hang up when there was a click of someone picking up, cutting of the recorded voice of the answering machine. “Yeah, hi?” said Whizzer.

Marvin swallowed, heartbeat finally slowing slightly. “Hi,” he echoed. “It’s me.”

Whizzer sighed, but he didn’t sound unhappy. “Hi,” he said again. “Sorry it took me so long…was in the bathroom.”

He hated himself for how happy that made him.That, for one day of the week, Whizzer wasn’t out fucking other guys.

Well, it was only seven on a Friday.There was no telling what he’d do after midnight, when the underground of the city finally woke up.Marvin forced himself to speak before that thought could latch on.

“Trina’s gone,” he said. “For the whole weekend.At her parents’.”

A beat passed. “Oh, yeah?’ Whizzer said, sounding suddenly interested. “Are you offering the chance to spend the night?”

Marvin’s heart jumped into his throat.He’d never asked that before. “Do you want to?”

Whizzer chuckled lowly, like Marvin’s optimism is a big joke to him. “I don’t think so Marvin,” he said. “Sleeping in the bed you share with your wife doesn’t appeal much to me.”

“Right.” Whizzer’s dig had hit just where he had intended it to, and his skin prickled with anger and embarrassment. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“Aw, don’t be like that.Do you want me to come or not?”

And despite the barbed insults Whizzer had sent his way, he found the answer still remained a solid _yes._ He wanted to feel good tonight, wanted Whizzer so bad he could feel it. “Yes,” he admitted, feeling the familiar low, deep stirring in his abdomen.

Whizzer hummed like he had expected that would be his answer. “I’ll swing by in a bit,” he said. “Try not to come in your pants before I get there.”

And then he hung up, leaving Marvin alone in his kitchen, far too sober and already half-hard.

Forty minutes later - Marvin knew because he’d been meticulously watching the clock since he hung up the phone - Whizzer made his presence known in his typical fashion: obnoxiously and incessantly ringing the doorbell until Marvin finally answered.

“Do you have to do that every time?” he snapped as he opened the door onto an altogether nonplussed and bored-looking Whizzer.He was wearing his usual combination of obscenely tight pants and a shirt that was practically transparent, something that made Marvin’s mouth near about water.

“Yes,” Whizzer informed him matter-of-factly.He spread his arms out wide in the look-at-me stance. “Aren’t you happy to see me?”

Marvin grabbed Whizzer’s bicep, dragging him inside. “Come on,” he said, not bothering to tell him that yes, he was thrilled to see him.The feeling washardly reciprocated, so what was the point in embarrassing himself?

Whizzer headed toward the stairs, like always, but Marvin tugged him away.

“Not upstairs.”He’d tell him that Trina had noticed evidence of Whizzer’s previous little romp around the bedroom later, when they were less preoccupied.

Whizzer didn’t object, just let Marvin steer him into the den instead.Whizzer nudged him toward the couch, and Marvin fell back into it, grateful for something that could catch him.His knees were already weak.How pathetic.

Whizzer climbed into Marvin’s lap in one practiced motion, knees framing his thighs, pinning him to the cushions.He dragged him in by the collar of his shirt, slotting their mouths together, grinding his hips against Marvin’s crotch in the way he _knew_ could kill him.Marvin groaned into Whizzer’s mouth.

“God, you’re so easy.” Whizzer laughed lightly.He’d already gotten past Marvin’s belt and zipper, had a hand down Marvin’s underwear, could definitely feel how achingly, painfully hard he already was. “You’re always _so_ easy.”

Even through Whizzer’s joking tone, he felt the humiliation hit him, immediate and jarring.It _was_ pathetic, how easily he could get it on for Whizzer.How easily Whizzer could turn him on, no matter what he did. 

Marvin couldn’t stand letting Whizzer read him like this, letting himself be controlled so much, when Whizzer was in absolutely no position to _be_ controlling.

“Shut up,” he snapped, reaching up to undo the buttons of Whizzer’s shirt.They were white; tiny pearls in an ocean of turquoise. “Just be quiet.”

Removing Whizzer’s shirt was always similar to ripping off a bandaid, because he was never really sure what…surprises he’d find underneath.He’d get full access to Whizzer’s body - his chest, abs, arms, all golden and toned from his job at the gym.On the other hand, he’d be forced to see the remnants of Whizzer’s encounters with other men; the bruises and bite marks purpling the skin around his collarbones and the junction between his neck and shoulder.Sometimes they’d be faded, but sometimes they’d be fresh.No matter what, they’d feel like a slap.

He pushed the fabric of Whizzer’s shirt back and almost sighed with relief.Whatever marks that were there were fading, softening, blending back into his skin.

He reached forward and ran his hand over Whizzer’s chest.His nipples hardened almost on contact. 

Marvin smirked. “Who’s easy now?”

Whizzer glared at him, squirming a little. “Shut up,” he muttered. “Come on.”

“Why are you so desperate?” Marvin asked, laughing lightly, wanting to see Whizzer squirm some more.He loved to see him needy, whiny. 

“Your dirty talk needs work.” Whizzer softly ran his thumb over the head of Marvin’s cock, making his hips jerk forward almost uncontrollably.Marvin’s skin tingled. “Come on, I _want_ you.”

Out of anything Whizzer’s ever told him, nothing had felt sweeter to hear than that.

Whizzer removed his hand and shrugged the rest of the way out of his shirt.As soon as he was free of it, he leaned forward, wrapping his golden arms around Marvin’s neck.

“I want you to look at me,” he mumbled into Whizzer’s mouth, digging his hands down down his pants, clutching what he can get to of his ass a little too hard, making Whizzer bit down his bottom lip. “Wanna see your face.”

Whizzer tugged greedily at his belt loops, canting his hips forward.He was finally deliciously hard, the pants he was wearing too tight to leave anything to the imagination. “Fine,” he said. “Don’t care, just hurry up.”

Marvin twisted around so Whizzer fell back against the armrest, already fumbling at his belt.Marvin helped him along, pulling down his jeans and boxers.

“Take them off,” Whizzer demanded as Marvin pulled his own shirt over his head, pushed his pants and underwear below his hips.Whizzer had no damn business being demanding in the position he was in, but his eyes were fierce and unyielding. “If we’re doing it this way, take them off _fully_.No way I’m getting chafed today.”

Marvin rolled his eyes, but obliged.Whizzer would never let them do this again if Marvin’s jeans rubbed up his ass too much.

He let himself sit on top of Whizzer for a moment, revelling in how good it felt to be commandeering over him.How good it was to see that body, for all its hard lines and sharp contours and lean muscle reduced to something so pliant and _his._

Whizzer swallowed.Marvin tracked the movement of his throat.He wanted it, it was so fucking clear, but pigs would fucking fly before Whizzer _begged_ for anything.

Marvin made a show of reaching for his pants, now shucked on the floor, grabbing the lube from his pocket.He smirked at the obvious relief in Whizzer’s eyes as he slicked up his fingers, and he knew Whizzer could see it from the way he almost immediately schooled himself, expression shuttering.

His finger circled Whizzer’s hole for a moment, delaying before the inevitable penetration.Marvin smirked as he hesitated.Whizzer’s pulse jumped in his throat, eyes widening.

“Marvin,” he whined softly, all semblance of authority gone.

“Say it,” Marvin sad, voice low.Whizzer scowled. “Come on.I want you to say it.”

Whizzer pulled Marvin down by the biceps until they were face-to-face, so close Marvin could feel the heat rising from Whizzer’s skin. _“Please,”_ he whispered.

Whizzer’s breath got cut off with a sharp gasp as Marvin suddenly pushed in.He curled his fingers into Marvin’s hair, pulling a bit too hard at the roots, desperate for something to hold on to.

“More,” Whizzer grunted, once he’d regained some level of control. “More, like, _now.”_

“Don’t be so impatient.” He added a second finger slowly, burying his face into the crook of Whizzer’s neck, letting the shudder of Whizzer’s body vibrate against him.

The hickeys seemed to mock him, glaring reminders that he wasn’t, never had been, the only one to see Whizzer in this state.

Whizzer hissed as Marvin began to suck at the skin along the base of his throat.It bruises so easily; he was always such an easy mark.

“What are you -” Marvin silenced him by adding a third finger.Whizzer’s voice tapered off immediately as a breathy moan slipped past his lips.

After the initial shock wore off, he weakly said, “Asshole.”

Marvin held his fingers there until the column of Whizzer’s throat was lined with dark bruises, the purple starkly fresh against the older, duller marks.He sat back for a moment, catching his breath.

Whizzer impatiently tugged at his hair. “Come on,” he said hoarsely, dragging him closer with his legs in an incredibly unsubtle motion.His face was flushed, breathing harsh and erratic, the want in his eyes almost palpable.

He pulled out painfully slowly, watching Whizzer’s face hungrily, eating up every subtle change in his expression.It always felt so good to know that he was able to reduce the steely, infallible Whizzer Brown to such a needy, whimpering state.

“Hurry up,” he said, watching as Marvin slicked himself up, eyes barely-open slits. “I need you.”

Fuck the teasing.If he stayed out here any longer he’d probably come.

Even with the prep, he was still tight, and Marvin sunk into him so, so slowly that he thought Whizzer might pass out.He kept his eyes on him as he entered, watching as Whizzer’s eyes fluttered shut, hearing his breath momentarily stall.

The way they fit together, while never easy, was so damn _perfect_ that Marvin could remember why they stayed together, through every fight and game.It was so good, so _right._

“Fuck.” The word was barely audible, carried on Whizzer’s shaky exhale. “Okay, move. _Move.”_

Marvin did, and Whizzer’s legs fell open around him, greedily pulling him in.Needing it.They fell into a rhythm so easily, Marvin fucking into him slowly, Whizzer rocking back after every thrust that made Marvin feel _so good._ Whizzer always made him feel so good.

It wasn’t too long before he could feel the familiar pressure building in the pit of his stomach; he wasn’t going to last much longer.Neither was Whizzer, judging by the tiny, harried gasps that escaped through his nose and from between his teeth that only seemed to come quicker every second, the way he arched back into it insistently, just _begging_ for more. 

“I’m - God, I’m close,” Whizzer mumbled, words slurred together. “I’m so fucking -”

“Me too,” Marvin said.Whizzer had one arm around Marvin’s shoulders, holding himself up, the other wound tight in his hair, breathless and boneless and just - fucking _gorgeous._ He always was so fucking gorgeous when they did this.

Whizzer leaned forward, thrusting his hips upward, nuzzling at Marvin’s shoulder - teeth against skin, a swallowed curse - and that was all it took, and Marvin’s body near about gave out with how blindingly hard he came.

He lifted his gaze for the briefest of moments, letting himself ride out the orgasm.His eyes focused on the doorway, and in an instant he froze.Reality slammed back into place like the a sledgehammer, hard and fast enough that it was dizzying.

Trina.

She was standing in the doorway, ghost-pale, clutching the doorframe with white knuckles.Her eyes roved the scene, taking in the clothes strewn on the floor, the smell of sex hanging thick in the hair, the sight of her husband balls-deep in another man on the couch.

Whizzer hadn’t seen her, apparently, because he suddenly said, “God, why are you stopping?” His voice was too loud, far too loud in the otherwise silence of the living room.He was barely whispering, but he may as well had been screaming. “I still haven’t -”

“Whizzer.”

“What?” One of his eyes cracked open, brow furrowed in irritation. “I swear to god, if you have to pee -”

 _“Shut up.”_ His voice cracked, out of desperation more than anything else.Trina was still staring at him.If someone pushed her she’d probably fall right over, still frozen in the same position.

What the fuck was she _doing_ here?She wasn’t supposed to be back for _days._

Whizzer finally seemed to catch on, lifting his head in confusion.He looked in the direction Marvin’s eyes were focused and Marvin knew the instant he finally saw Trina from the way he went board-rigid beneath him.

“Oh,” was all he said.

That seemed to finally shake Trina out of her trance.She let out a choked noise and disappeared from the doorway, heels clicking rapidly along the floor.The bathroom door slammed shut, and once again they were alone.

Whizzer’s cook was pressed against his stomach, still fully erect.

And Marvin knew; this end had been inevitable since the first time he’d invited Whizzer over.That night had been the first step in the direction of the cliff, and in this moment he had just been flung from the edge.The way he saw it, there was no other way this could resolve other than falling hundreds of feet onto the rocks below.

“Holy shit,” Whizzer breathed.

 _Holy shit_ indeed.


	2. indefinite leave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it's almost two weeks after the funeral, and Marvin's dealing with things. 'dealing with things' doesn't imply that he's dealing with them well, however.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> remember this chapter takes place in the present!! (i.e., post-falsettoland). chapters 1, 3, 5, 7, 9 take place in the past, and chapters 2, 4, 6, 8, 10 take place in the present. Enjoy!!!

Sometime in that first week after the funeral, Mendel had offered his services as a psychiatrist.  Someone to talk to, a shoulder to cry on, whatever he needed.  Marvin had laughed in his face. He had come to realize, upon extensive amounts of reflection, that Mendel was and continues to be godawful at his job, and will probably remain that way until his retirement in the distant future.

It’s unfortunate that Marvin hadn’t figured that out earlier.  Maybe if he had found another psychiatrist sooner, things could have worked out differently.  He wonders how much would’ve changed.  He wonders if that matters now.

 _There’s no use in fixating on the past, when the future’s still in front of you,_ had been one of Mendel’s favourite sayings, one he’d picked up off the front of a Reader’s Digest, Marvin’s sure, but maybe it’s got a point. Focusing on the could-haves will only hurt him in the long run.  He has what he has now, every shitty part, but at least it’s his.  Not some elaborate in-mind fantasy he could cook up imagining what might have happened had everything gone according to plan.  

He’d never been one to go by the book anyway, so maybe this was inevitable.

Sometimes he thinks it’s funny, though, that Mendel was his psychiatrist for something like six years and even after all that time he could never figure out exactly what was wrong with him.  His neuroticism was never able to be specified enough to make a diagnosis other than the fact that, yeah, something was up with him.

Waste of fucking money.

Mendel had been a firm believer in Freud, in psychodynamics and all that “levels of consciousness” horseshit.  His theory was that something was wrong with Marvin’s superego, which was what caused his hysterical and aggressive impulses. Marvin had zoned out somewhere in the middle of the seventy-third lecture on the subject, Mendel’s ramblings of psychological jargon fading into background noise as Marvin would survey the room.  

A direct parallel to the man himself, Mendel’s office was a mess.  It looked more like the aftermath of a tornado than the workplace of a licensed professional, books and paper and all kinds of junk cluttered all over every available surface, including the floor.

Marvin’s personal favourite thing in the room was the mini 365-day calendar propped up on Mendel’s desk.  It was one of those cutesy little things you’d find at craft stores, that would have stupid poems or jokes written above the date. This particular one had the definitions of words, but obscure words, ones that almost never come up in any normal conversation.  Things like  _synecdoche_ , or  _zenith,_ or  _prolix_.  It’s amazing how many words exist that are virtually useless. Year after year, Mendel bought that exact same calendar.  The words never changed, it never updated, so Marvin found himself memorizing it after a while.  Whenever he was bored and not listening, he could put a few new nonsense words to memory.

He’d only really focus when the conversation was relevant to what was actually happening in his life at the time, i.e., the stuff that actually mattered.  Namely, things to do with Trina and Jason.  And men.  And later, of course, Whizzer.  Mendel would ask one question, week after week, since he’d first mentioned Whizzer’s name.

_Do you love him?_

Marvin had a plethora of answers, too.

_No.  I don’t know.  Maybe.  Sorta kinda._

It was hard to explain.  His feelings for Whizzer lay beyond articulation.  They were confusing, unpredictable, and ever-changing.  Certainly they weren’t all good, but they weren’t all bad either.  Sure, later he’d figured out that he loved Whizzer, but he hadn’t been able to identify it as such for a long time.  QMostly, Whizzer had fascinated him.  He was so unlike anyone he’d ever met before, in the way he’d dressed, acted, subtly went against his mold in society without ever bringing too much unwanted attention to himself.  Marvin didn’t know what else he was supposed to feel other than  _fascinated._

Whizzer as he had known him back then had been a special breed of person.  Someone who was neither diurnal nor nocturnal, instead flitting among the creatures that only came alive at dusk and dawn, when the world was at its most quiet and vulnerable.  That was Whizzer’s time to prowl, solitary and powerful in the lonely hours of twilight.  There’s a good word for that:  _crepuscular._   It had been the word of the day for January 18th.  He wonders if Mendel still has that calendar.

*

Marvin’s been awake for an hour, and he’s spent that time unmoving, tracing the patterns the stucco ceiling creates with his eyes.  

The sun continues to rise outside, proof that the earth goes on turning no matter what shit happens upon it, the line of shadow on Marvin’s bed creeping closer and closer to his face until the light is blaring directly into his eyes.  He doesn’t shut the blinds one time and this is what he gets. A thought crosses his mind: he should probably get up, or at least turn over, but he doesn’t make a move to follow through with either thought.

Marvin thinks a lot, but doesn’t do anything a  _lot,_  these days.  He thinks he should go to work, but he doesn’t get up.  He thinks he should make himself breakfast/lunch/dinner, but he doesn’t cook it.  He thinks he’d kill for a goddamn drink, but he doesn’t pour himself one.  But that’s the fault of whoever had cleared the liquor cabinet, rather than a result of his own inaction.

This time, though, he actually thinks he might go blind if he stays like this, so he finally rolls over, facing the wall. He’s on Whizzer’s side, and resists the urge to scoot back onto his own. It’s not like this isn’t  _his_ fucking bed.  It had been  _his_ before it became  _theirs_ , after all.   _His_ apartment before  _their_ apartment, and so on.  Whizzer had just flounced in one day and made this his unofficial side of the bed. Even still, Marvin can’t help but feel he’s encroaching onto something precious, desecrating a sacred site.  Maybe it will anger Whizzer enough that he’ll come back as a poltergeist and bully him until he corrects his ways.  Now that’d be a laugh.

It reminds him of something Whizzer said one time.  He’d threatened spousal homicide in the event that Marvin, after his death, should toss away his clothes in a direction that wasn’t towards a decent charity.  It’s almost funny, picturing Whizzer reaching down like the hand of god to strike him out all the way from the afterlife.  But he doesn’t believe in ghosts and only believes in god on a good day, so he thinks Whizzer will have no say in the matter should he decide to generously donate Whizzer’s designer labels or throw them to the rats, or whether he sleeps on his side of the bed or not.

In a way, it makes him sad, so he tries not to dwell on it.

*

The phone’s ringing.  Again.  You’d think Marvin’s a fucking celebrity with how many calls he gets nowadays, from his boss telling him to get his ass back to work  _or else,_ but mostly from his friends repeatedly trying to checking up on him.

He honestly admires their determination, but it’s incredibly overbearing.  He’d picked up the phone for the first little while, after shiva had ended and they all went home and he’d needed something to distract from the fact that he was well and truly  _alone_ now, but it quickly became something like a chore.  There’s only so much pity he can handle before it’s sickening, and that line had been crossed a long time ago.  Eventually he just stopped picking up.

Marvin leans against the counter as he waits for the person on the other end to give up, sipping at his coffee (today’s breakfast, he’s not had the stomach for much of anything else lately).  The caller gets cut off after five rings, and the red light on the answering machine blinks after another moment, telling him he’s got a new message.  Before he can stop himself, he presses play, feeling morbidly curious.

Trina’s tinny voice crackles through the speaker. “Hi, Marvin.” She sounds tired. “I just wanted to let you know that the bar mitzvah photos have been developed and I’m gonna drop your copies off later today.  You’ll probably be at work so I’ll put them in your mailbox, you can do whatever you want with them.” Pause. “Okay, that’s it.  Please call me later.  Bye.”

The answering machine says in its automated voice  _this message will be saved for thirty days_ before the machine’s lights go off and it turns silent.

There’s honestly nothing he wants to associate himself with  _less_ currently than the bar mitzvah.  Which honestly, as a dad, feels like a massively shitty thing to do considering that it was  _Jason’s_ day to become a man and his own father wants nothing to do with it. He assumes by Trina’s saying  _whatever he wants,_ a part of her assumes he’ll want to burn or otherwise destroy the photos he gets, which he wouldn’t put past her for thinking, given her experience with Marvin and the way he “solved” his problems in the past. It’s not like he ever would, though.  Destroy them, that is.  Hide them, maybe.  Any place he doesn’t have to look at them and therefore not think about them.  Some day in the future he might even want to see them, but he doubts it.

The thing is, Jason’s bar mitzvah, also doubled as the day Whizzer  _died,_ and he doesn’t know if he could ever think about one, without associating it with the other.  They’re too intertwined. Apparently, the selfish asshole called the universe likes irony; the day Jason’s life began also happened to be the end of Whizzer’s.  Those morbid, death-obsessed artists would think it’s beautiful, in a way.  Almost poetic.  Marvin would gladly punch every one of them in the face.

He also thinks it’s a laugh how Trina said  _you’ll probably be at work_ , as if Marvin’s left the building, let alone went to  _work_ in the past two weeks.  He thinks it’s partially out of spite that he picks up the phone then and calls out of work, for something like the tenth consecutive day. Partially spite, but less than he’d like to admit.  He’s mostly just tired.

“Death in the family,” he explains to his boss, who is now bordering on livid. “You know how it is.”

*

A typical work day for him ends at three, so at four Marvin leaves his apartment to grab the mail from downstairs.  It’s something he hasn’t done for a while - not get the mail, leave his apartment. Among the pileup of old mail he hasn’t picked up for a week and a half are the photos, tucked in a cardboard folder from the shop. Garish pictures of happy families are printed across the front, cheesing at the camera without a care.  It makes him want to vomit.

He takes it along with the rest of the junk back upstairs, ready to go back inside and hunker down for the rest of the night (read: week) when the door next opens and - just his luck - Cordelia walks out.  She sees him at the same time as he sees her, and they collectively freeze, like they’re the deer and the other is the car roaring down the highway.

All Marvin can really think about is how fucking awful he must look - he’s got the complexion of a vampire, hasn’t shaved since the funeral, is wearing yesterday’s clothes, and the last time he showered was during shiva, which means sometime last week.

To her credit, though, she doesn’t look too disgusted.  Just sad.  On second thought, that doesn’t do wonders for his self-esteem either.

“What’s that?” is how she breaks the silence.  She nods to what he’s holding.

Marvin resists the urge to hide it behind his back, all of a sudden not wanting to say.  It’s not like he’s ready to have that conversation. “Mail,” he says.  It’s not a lie, just an omission of the whole truth.

It’s not been long since he’s seen her.  In fact, it was only yesterday when she stopped by, yet again, for food and hugs.  He’d managed to drag himself out of bed by the time she’d visited at two in the afternoon. He doesn’t look that much different now than he did then, but somehow, spotlighted under the harsh fluorescents of the hallway, it feels much more incriminating.

“Do you…” She pauses, as if weighing her words.  The sight doesn’t fill Marvin with confidence. “…want to come over?” At the look on his face, she’s quick to add, “Or don’t!  I mean, I could come to yours and we could just…”

Marvin can practically see the gears in her brain turning as she tries to figure out a way to phrase it that doesn’t sound insensitive.   _We could just hang out_  isn’t exactly appropriate vocabulary for this kind of suggestion.

“We could just be together,” she finally says. “I don’t want you to be alone.  I know how hard this is.”

 _Cry me a river,_ Marvin viciously wants to bite out.  _You know fucking shit._

The thought came from out of nowhere, and the vitriol he suddenly feels makes him almost dizzy.  He consciously bites the words off his tongue before forcing himself to say, “No thanks. He gestures to her bag, somewhat desperate for a subject change. “Besides, weren’t you going somewhere?”

She glances at it as if she’d forgotten she was carrying it.  Then she looks back to him. “Just the store,” she says softly. “But I can go any time.  You’re more important.”

Marvin looks at his feet, unable to meet her eyes, knowing already what he’ll see: the same horrible, nausea-inducing sympathy he’s been subject to for what feels like ages.  He can’t fucking stand it. 

“I’m fine,” is what he eventually replies.  

Cordelia’s brow furrows. “Are you sure?  We could just -”

“Cordelia, seriously.” His voice catches unexpectedly. “It’s fine.”

Everything about his current disposition suggests otherwise, but Cordelia’s too sweet to point that out.  She just purses her lips, but seems to realize that he really,  _really_ can’t handle company right now and eventually nods. “Okay,” she acquiesces. “I guess…see you later, then?”

“Yeah, sure.” Marvin walks past her and up to his door.

He’s about to walk inside when Cordelia’s voice calls out to him once more. “Hey, Marv?”

Marvin resists the urge to flinch because the last time someone called him by that pet name it was Whizzer and he was -

_Stop.  Stop._

“Yeah?” he asks, voice semi-strangled.

“I, um.” At the hesitation in her voice, Marvin turns his head, raising his eyebrows to prompt her. “If Charlotte and I had, if we had you guys - Trina and Mendel, too - over for…drinks or something…” Marvin swallows, sensing where this is going. “Would you come?”

The thought of socializing with the rest of them  _without_ Whizzer makes him feel even more ill than he already does. “I don’t know,” he says, which is better than the straight  _no_ he was planning on.

Cordelia sighs, fiddling with the strap of her purse.  Even  _she_ looks sadder these days, paler and tired and generally less sunny.  Even her bright red coat looks dull, muted. “Okay,” she says. “It’s not a sure thing, anyway, just something we’ve been thinking about.” She smiles, a brittle, shaky thing. “Just consider it?”

It’s the bare minimum she’s asking of him, yet it still takes a considerable amount of willpower for him to force his jaws to unclamp enough to say, “Sure.” Then Marvin ducks inside before she can say another word.  He leans against the door and hugs the mail to his chest, releasing a shuddery breath.

*

Marvin takes a shower.  Being caught in the open looking like an absolute mess apparently kick-started the part of his brain that gives a damn about such things like personal hygiene.  He dumps the bar mitzvah photos on the kitchen counter and goes to the bathroom without bothering to so much as lookat them.

He turns on the water as hot as he can stand it before climbing in and letting the spray pelt down on his shoulders.  He likes to imagine the layers of grime and dirt and hospital stench that still remains even now, peeling off him and vanishing down the drain, leaving him fresh and new, like a snake shedding its skin.  What he wouldn’t give to feel like that.  He feels so goddamn old.

He eats and pisses and sleeps, that’s it.  Such a predictable and empty routine, yet it’s so exhausting.  Marvin’s been tired for weeks.  He can’t remember what it’s like to not be tired. Marvin tips his head up to meet the spray head-on, and if there was any time he was gonna cry, this was it; the tears could blur into the water as soon as they escaped, get swirled down the drain with the rest of his filth.  No evidence.  He doesn’t, though.  He doesn’t even think he could if he tried.

When the water has gone from scalding to lukewarm, Marvin gets out of the shower and sits on the closed toilet seat for a while after, decidedly thinking about nothing.  The bathroom’s a safe zone; unlike everywhere else in this place, there’s not as many memories.  The bedroom, the kitchen, the living room, they’re all fucking minefields.  The bathroom is no man’s land.

Except, he’s wrong.  There’s pieces of Whizzer  _everywhere_ in here.  There’s his toothbrush, in the cup by the sink, and his shampoo and conditioner and soap (all ridiculously expensive).  Skin creams and hair gel and bath salts and  _holy shit,_ Marvin wants to break it all. The urge fills him suddenly, as he stares at that stupid toothbrush.  He wants to snap it and throw the pieces in the garbage along with everything else of his that’s still in here, and maybe everything else that’s in this house.  Whizzer can’t stop him because no matter what he pretended his ghost self could do, he’s fucking dead.

On a whim he snatches up the first thing within reach, Whizzer’s stupidly overpriced cologne, and pitches it at the wall as hard as he can.  The glass bottle breaks on impact, and the pieces scatter on the floor.  The liquid oozes out with nothing to contain it, spreading along through the spaces between the tiles.  With it, the scent rises into the air. It’s not the same without Whizzer’s underlying scent overriding it, but Whizzer had never gone a damn day without spraying on that cologne if he could, so it feels a little like getting punched in the stomach.  God, Whizzer would  _hate_ him.  Would fucking hate him.  That was such a bad decision.

Marvin lets his head fall into his hands.  But he doesn’t cry.  He was right - there’s nothing left.

*

He pulls himself together enough to clean up the mess, still not crying but shaking badly enough that he manages to cut himself on the edge of one of the shards of glass.  In the end, all that remains of Marvin’s little bout of rage are the pieces of glass in the garbage, the bandage on his palm, and the overpowering scent of Chanel for Men hanging in the air, a ghost. 

 


	3. reasons for defying reason

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a realization, a proposal, a fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> remember: a journey back to the past. takes place soon after trina caught the boys in the den.
> 
> thanks for reading !!! comments and kudos help me thrive :D

The advantage of having an apartment to himself was that there was nothing he had to hide anymore, no secrets he had to keep from his family or anyone else.Specifically, that meant Whizzer could come over when he wanted and leave when he wanted, if he left at all.That was another advantage; Whizzer could stay the night, now.And he did, a lot.

At half past one, Whizzer was long asleep, curled beneath the sheet in a fetal position.Every now and then a car drove past outside, throwing light from their high beams over his face, briefly bleaching his skin and deepening the lines around the contours of his features.

_Early morning_ is a time Marvin had begun to associate with reflection.The world was quiet, softer, and it was a time where emotions came forth easier.Whether it was the feeling of isolation or the sleep deprivation was yet to be determined, however.After a considerable amount of thought in these early morning sessions - much more effective than a psychiatrist, Marvin had come to the conclusion that he may be a bit in love with Whizzer after all.

It had come upon him gradually, like the tide creeping in at night, but he had started to notice _something_.Occasionally, and with increasing frequency as time went on, Whizzer would do something mundane, and Marvin would feel a little stirring in his chest.A shock, like a mini electric current flowing beneath his skin.Lightning striking the heart.

It hit him when he made Whizzer laugh, full-bodied and breathless.It hit him when Whizzer would step out of the shower, all steamy and warm and softer looking than usual with a towel wrapped around his waist and hair dripping water onto his shoulders.It hit him when they would walk back from a night out, and Marvin would chance a look at Whizzer as they moseyed down the sidewalk, and would watch as the lights of the city danced in a colourful scrawl over his face.

And of course, it hit him now, when Whizzer was asleep.He had this beautiful vulnerability to him when was like this.In this state, he couldn’t put up walls or run out or say vicious things.He could only drift along, trusting Marvin would do nothing to harm him.

On the nights where the insomnia was particularly bad, Marvin would sit up with the window open, letting the air in, and study Whizzer’s sleeping face.Then, time felt frozen, heavier, like gravity was pushing down harder on them.Keeping them locked in the moment.

But the clock on the bedside table was proof that time, in fact, went on, the sun would eventually rise, and the next day would eventually begin.Time didn’t give a shit about one man and his selfish need of preserving the person he lived with and slept with and was sort of in love with in a permanent stasis of beauty.

Because Whizzer _is_ beautiful, and Marvin had never been good at letting go of beautiful things.

But Trina was beautiful too, he supposed, in her own way, not that it mattered much to Marvin.And he’d replaced her.But it wasn’t the same.It couldn’t be the same.

A gust of wind blew in from outside, raw and cold as February should be.Whizzer shivered in his sleep, curling in closer on himself, looking smaller than he ever seemed. 

Marvin tucked the blanket up under his chin, leaned back against the headboard, and watched outside for the inevitable rise of the sun.

**

Let it be known that Whizzer was a fucking _messy_ sleeper.Marvin must’ve dozed off at one point, because when he woke up the sky outside was just starting to glow pink with the beginnings of dawn, and Whizzer’s arm was shoved in his face.The rest of his dead-weight was thrown over his chest.

It was seven, meaning Marvin had to leave for work within the hour.He was endlessly jealous of Whizzer’s lax schedule, which only called for him to come in on the days and at the times he had clients to actually _train_ at the gym

Marvin pushed Whizzer off of him, more roughly than was probably warranted.Whizzer lifted his head groggily, blinking his eyes open. “Huh?”

Damn Whizzer for being so fucking endearing, even at ass o’clock in the morning.

“Do you have work today?” Marvin asked him.He sat up but didn’t make a move to get out of bed, just watched Whizzer expectantly.

Whizzer made a face, looking like he was trying to mentally recount his schedule. “Yes,” he eventually said. “Not til ten, though.I only have one client today.”

“Meaning you’ll be home early?”

“Uh-huh.” Whizzer squinted at him. “Why?Do you want something?”

Marvin grinned sheepishly. “Just for you to make dinner.I don’t get in til late today - meetings with shitty clients and whatever.”

Whizzer made a face, but whether it was in sympathy with Marvin’s predicament or at the prospect of cooking dinner couldn’t be determined. “Fine,” he conceded. “I’ll try to burn some dinner.”

“Great,” Marvin said, nudging him lightly.He eyed Whizzer’s wild bedhead. “And fix your hair, Ms. Hepburn.It’s a mess.”

“Hey now,” Whizzer chided, but he was grinning. “I’m _Elizabeth,_ remember?”

Marvin felt something then, something that twisted inside his chest.It was the sensation he’d been feeling fleetingly for weeks, but this time it was more intense than it ever had been before.Like it was trying to say _I’m here.Acknowledge me._ It was a warm feeling, that began in his core and spread out from there, leaving even the tips of his fingers and toes all tingly.

_Love._ It was fucking undeniable at this point.

Marvin wasn’t stupid.He knew what this meant, and god, he should be fucking _terrified_ about now.In love with a man, with _Whizzer_ of all people.It was definitely terrifying, shocking, and more than a little confusing.But in this moment, it felt almost…okay.Wasn’t that what love was supposed to make you feel? _Good?_ Like everything would be alright?

He was in love with Whizzer Brown. _Okay._ Before he could think about it he leaned back down and kissed Whizzer, slowly and sweetly.And Whizzer responded in kind.It was by far the most romantic kiss they’d ever had, when compared to the harried, messy frenching that was their usual style.

Marvin closed his eyes and allowed himself to get lost in the kiss.For a while, in moments like this, he could forget about all the games, every stupid thing they’d ever fought about.All that existed right now was him, Whizzer, and the love burning away in his chest, exhilarating and horrible all at once.

Eventually, Marvin broke the kiss, opening his eyes.Whizzer was staring at him, every last trace of sleep seemingly scared away.He blinked and tilted his head, wordlessly asking, _What was that for?_

“I think…” Marvin took a breath. “I think you should move in."

It was a risk, a big one, and he regretted asking almost immediately.It was certainly too much of him to ask, especially out of nowhere, especially this early in the morning..He braced himself for Whizzer to spring out of bed and make a run for it.

But he didn’t.All of Whizzer’s movements froze for a long time.Marvin held his breath in anticipation, only exhaling when he felt like his lungs were going to shut down.

“You would want that?” Whizzer asked him, sounding so…what?Astonished?Pleased? _Loved?_

Marvin nodded. “You spend most of your time here as it is, so it’d make more sense than having to pay rent for two places.” _Plus your apartment is a shithole,_ he thought but wisely chose not to add. “And anyway, we’ve been together, what - seven months?”

“Six,” Whizzer corrected faintly.

He was pretty sure it was seven, but whatever. “Well, we’ve been together a while.It’s…kind of the next step, I think.”

Whizzer’s face remained blank for another few seconds.Then he grinned suddenly, and Marvin was taken aback by the sincerity of it, not accustomed to something that wasn’t a smirk or a scowl. “It’ll be catastrophic.” There was warning in his voice, but there something resembling - _fondness_ in his eyes.

“Maybe.” Marvin reached up to card his fingers through Whizzer’s hair, elation at his almost-yes making him feel somewhat floaty. “But I think we make a pretty good catastrophe, you and I.”

Whizzer tugged at his shirt, and Marvin happily accepted the kiss, chest tightening at the uncharacteristic display of affection.God knew Whizzer was right, and they’d probably get sick of each other after a few days - let alone weeks - but Marvin couldn’t bring himself to care right now.Whizzer had agreed to move in with him.That was all that mattered.

All day at work, Marvin couldn’t focus.Through phone calls and meetings, the only thing Marvin could think about was that morning.He replayed the whole scene in his mind, over and over again.He couldn’t help but think about how Whizzer had never agreed to this level of commitment before.He avoided talking about the long-term like the plague and the concept of _settling down_ was all but foreign to him.And yet, he’d still agreed to _move in._ What the hell did that _mean?_

When he returned home from work later that night, he found that Whizzer had obliged his request and made dinner.To his credit, it was only slightly burned.

Marvin was kind of in love with Whizzer.And as he eyed him across the table, he wondered if he should dare think that Whizzer might feel the same.He couldn’t help but hope, no matter how astronomical that possibility seemed to be.

**

Whizzer moved in three days later.It wasn’t a complicated procedure; all it involved was Whizzer cutting his lease for his own apartment and bringing over his remaining belongings - all of a suitcase worth’s of stuff.

There were no major changes, the earth didn’t shift on its axis or anything dramatic.But there was something subtly different in the air.Every time he saw Whizzer making breakfast or brushing his teeth or doing something else completely mundane, he felt a little rush.A surge of adrenaline that felt like it was saying _Me.He chose me._ Out of all the men in New York, Whizzer chose to move in with _me._ He couldn’t help but preen a little.

Of course, there were still those nights when Whizzer went out after dinner, and returned home a little too relaxed and loose, spaciness lingering in his eyes.There were nights when Whizzer seemed emotionally colder, closed-off, when he would bat away any attempts of affection with a glare and something snide.Nights when he wouldn’t come home at all.

As much as it made him feel ill to picture Whizzer with other men, he avoided thinking about it whenever possible.Whizzer was here, he was staying here.That was what mattered, in the end.

It went beautifully, blessedly well for all of three months.

That was when…Mendel happened.Or more specifically, Mendel and _Trina_ happened.Marvin had previously noticed, while supervising Jason’s therapy sessions - though he used the term “therapy” very lightly - something going on between them.He’d be a moron _not_ to, especially considering Mendel’s not-subtle interrogation about Marvin’s ex-wife session after session at his own therapy.

He fucking hoped to god he wasn’t asking _Jason_ anything about Trina’s bed habits.

Marvin had never before considered Mendel a threat.The man dressed like a grandpa and was ridiculously awkward and, for a man in his forties, he couldn’t seem to string together an intelligible sentence about _anything_.Not to mention the whole fact that he was terrible at his job.Trina seemed to have enough taste to realize how altogether shitty Mendel was as a person and psychiatrist and to avoid him like the damn plague. Alas, Marvin had been wrong, as it turned out.Because a little over a month after the start of Jason’s therapy, Marvin found out - from Jason, no less, over a less-than-inspired telephone call - that Trina and Mendel were dating.

Well, that was unexpected. 

Something in him, the more logical part, perhaps, questioned his reasoning for being so hung up about it.As Trina and Whizzer liked to tell him, Marvin wasn’t involved in her life anymore.But, as he graciously pointed out, he _was_.Trina had been his wife for ten years, they’d had a _child_ together, and he still was the father to that child no matter where he was or what he did.Trina’s affairs were basically his own at this point, and somehow he was the only one who saw that.

Trina was doing this out of spite, he was sure.A way to erase their history, to deny everything they had together.Getting with _Mendel_ of all people proved that.It was just so fucking… _immature._ And even if it was illogical, he considered it a valid reason to be angry.And he was - angry, that is.

Marvin had begun to realize it was taking a toll on his relationship with Whizzer.Marvin discovered that being perpetually angry with someone, but unable to express that anger to the subjects you were actually angry _at_ meant you project it onto someone else.Whizzer, as the man he lived with on a daily basis, ended up taking the brunt of that anger.

He felt less guilty than he probably should, because, for what it was worth, Whizzer wasn’t exactly doing anything to inspire good will.Recently, he’d changed a little.And definitely not for the better.He was ruder, meaner.His insults had turned from petty, yet witty, to flat-out vitriolic.He acted like every request Marvin made of him - be it washing the dishes or cooking dinner or doing the laundry - was the biggest chore in the world.He seemed to wait for the perfect moment to make a scathing remark, always looking to pick a fight.And it worked, the end result was what he craved: fights. _Bad_ fights.Minor things that used to receive an eye roll or snarky comment in response now resulted in volcanic screaming matches that only seemed to end with someone abruptly storming out and slamming the door behind them.

Some days, it seemed almost normal.On days where Marvin didn’t think about _Mendel_ and when Whizzer seemed like his usual self - snarky and crass, but sweet in a way - it felt, once again, like things could work out.Whizzer would make dinner and they wouldn’t stew in silence or bite out insults across the table.Afterword they would screw and it would feel less like hate-fucking and more like actual sex between lovers.They might even cuddle after, somewhat.

But those days were becoming few and far between, and no matter how good things could feel, nothing could hide the fact that as time went on, they stepped closer to the catastrophe Whizzer had prophesied.

**

It was a Wednesday, and Marvin was more nervous than he wanted to admit as he entered the apartment after work.They’d had yet another fight over the phone, and it had ended on as bad a note as one would expect.The lights were on, at least.Whizzer hadn’t completely bailed.But still, he didn’t know what to expect.

Marvin had called Whizzer from his office before he left work later than usual, asking if Whizzer had started dinner.When the other had responded with a bored-sounding _no,_ Marvin had - _respectfully_ \- told him that since Marvin was the one making money, Whizzer should be the one to cook dinner.Whizzer had taken it out of proportion almost immediately, and the conversation had abruptly ended with Whizzer shouting something scathing into the phone before hanging up.Marvin hadn’t the nerve to call back after that.

When he walked in the kitchen, Whizzer was already at the table, picking at the food on his plate.He looked up as Marvin entered. “Made dinner,” he said, voice calm.Too calm.It was eerie. 

When Marvin pulled out his chair, sat, and looked at the plate, he understood.Whizzer had made shrimp, over brown rice, with an artichoke heart placed neatly beside.Artfully arranged and, Marvin noted, very deliberately chosen.

Whizzer, the petty bitch that he was, had composed the meal of foods he explicitly knew Marvin loathed.Grip tightening around the fork, he wrenched his gaze from his plate and met Whizzer’s eyes.He was chewing casually, posture nonchalant, but there was a wild intensity in his stare even _he_ couldn’t mask. 

“You know I hate shrimp,” was all Marvin said.

From across the table, Whizzer smiled at him; a sharp rictus, all teeth. “Oh, I’m sorry,” he said sweetly. “Guess you’ll have to make your own dinner, then.” He stabbed his fork through a shrimp with so much force that it was surprising the plate beneath it didn’t crack. “Or you could shut up and eat the fucking food you made me cook.”

“I didn’t _make_ you cook anything,” Marvin snapped.

“No?” If there was a way to _chew_ aggressively, Whizzer was definitely doing it. “That’s not what you sounded like on the phone.” He pitched his voice so it was a shrill, cruel impersonation of Marvin’s. “ _I do all the work so it’s only_ fair _you do the cooking, Whizzer.I ask so little of you and you can’t even do that.”_ Scowling, he gestured at the plate. “Eat up, asshole.”

“Whizzer, can you _stop?”_ Marvin growled.He was so fucking sick of this.Sick of Whizzer acting like he was under so much _pressure_ and _stress_ from being asked to cook _dinner_ , of all things.He lounged around all day otherwise, doing absolutely nothing as far as Marvin knew.He was the most overdramatic person Marvin knew.And he’d lived with Trina for ten years _._

Whizzer’s eyes flashed. “Stop what?”

“Being so -” Marvin dropped his knife to gesture angrily. “ _Moody.”_

The corners of Whizzer’s mouth twitched. “Could you repeat that?” he asked. “I’m not sure I heard you correctly, because I honestly can’t believe _you,_ Mr. ‘My Bad Moods Have Bad Moods _’_ , would tell _me_ to stop being moody.”

“What are you talking about?” Marvin said incredulously. “I’m not moody.”

“Yes, you fucking are!” Whizzer exploded suddenly, voice raising out of nowhere. “You’ve been in a bad mood for like - a _month_.” He glared at Marvin, eyes hard as stones. “Do you remember last fucking Thursday, Marvin?” Before Marvin could even reply, he went on, “I was stuck in traffic so I was an hour late for dinner.And you _lost your shit_ at me.”

Marvin remembered.It had been their worst fight in months. “How was I supposed to know?” he said testily. “You’re supposed to let me know about these things.If you’re gonna be late or something.”

“I was on a fucking _bus,_ Marvin,” Whizzer snapped. “It’s not like I could’ve called you.And you never even let me explain when I got in.”

“Well, forgive me for doubting your excuses, Whizzer.” Marvin felt his chest tightening, the anger he’d become so familiar with coiling in his stomach. “I mean, I’ve been with you long enough to know what you’re _like_.”

Whizzer narrowed his eyes. “What is _that_ supposed to mean?”

“You know exactly what it means.”

“No, I don’t,” Whizzer spat. “Why don’t you clue me in?”

“You _fuck ten guys a week.”_ The words exploded from behind his teeth like a caged animal that had recently been set loose. “Behind my back.You don’t tell me unless I _ask._ So forgive me for nottrusting you more.”

Whizzer scoffed. “Y’know, Marvin, you’re the biggest fucking hypocrite I know.” He raised his gaze to meet Marvin’s, eyes cold and bottomless and empty. “Pretending what I do to you is anything different than what you did to Trina.”

“It _is_ different, and you know it.” He felt his temper rising - Whizzer playing the Trina card tended to do that to him.Especially when he liked to pretend their situations were comparable in anyway, even when he knew full well they weren’t.

“I’ll give you that,” Whizzer compromised. “But it’s only because I don’t fucking _lie_ about it.I never have.By your own admission, you _ask_ , so I tell you.I’m not fucking _pretending_ I don’t do what I do.Unlike _you.”_ Marvin made an incredulous noise, and Whizzer rolled his eyes. “Oh, don’t give me that.You think I never heard what you said to Trina on the phone all those times you called her from my place?” Whizzer’s Marvin imitation was back, and somehow meaner and shriller than before. “ _Trina, I’m running late.Sorry, Trina, I have a meeting.Sorry, Trina, I -”_

“Stop it,” Marvin cut in, gritting his teeth.

“Shut up,” Whizzer snapped harshly. “This is the truth, _face it.”_ He paused, appearing to contemplate his next words. “We both knew what this relationship was about going into it,” he said. “I don’t know what kind of shit you - _dreamed_ about, monogamy or - or _love -”_ Marvin hated the way that felt like a gut punch. “- But it was never about any of that.It’s about sex, that’s it.You knew that from the start.”

It was true, he did.But, somehow, Marvin had believed that after Whizzer agreed to move in with him, something would change.Their relationship would transform into something more serious, more exclusive.One commitment leading to another, or something.He’d clearly been the only one who thought that.

“There’s always going to be other men, Marvin,” Whizzer goes on. “And I won’t lie to you about that.But the thing is, whenever you ask, I tell you, and then you get _mad.”_

Marvin looked at him, making an effort to keep his face as blank as possible. “And you’re saying I have no reason to be?”

His poker face was clearly not as good as Whizzer’s, because when Whizzer looked at him his expression was almost pitying.

“I’m saying…” He trailed off briefly, worrying on his bottom lip. “I’m saying that if you’re upset or - _hurt_ by this, it’s your own fault.I never made any promises to you.”

“That’s right,” he said flatly. “You didn’t.”

Abruptly, Marvin dropped his fork and stood up, leaving the room without another word, going to sit on the couch in the living room.He partly expected (or maybe it was just _hoped)_ that Whizzer would follow him in, and they could talk - or screw, their usual solution.Then everything would go back to normal. 

But most of him expected Whizzer to leave, as was typical of him after a fight.Marvin could hear him push back his chair and drop his silverware on his plate with a clatter.When his footsteps sounded, they were headed toward the foyer, not the living room.It wasn’t surprising, but nonetheless it made Marvin’s heart sink.

The door shut behind Whizzer as he left, and Marvin sighed, slumping back into the couch.Given some of their other fights, this one barely registered as a low.It involved considerably less screaming than ninety percent of them.In replacement of the yelling had been honesty.Harsh, cold truths.

Marvin had hardly even raised his voice, and yet he’d never before felt so drained.

**

Marvin was two fingers deep into a fresh bottle of scotch when Whizzer returned, the door banging open against the wall with all the lack of discretion he was famous for.

But he _did_ come back.That part, at least, was a victory.

He watched out of the corner of his eye as Whizzer slinked into the living room, forcing himself to seem indifferent at his arrival.Whizzer, to his credit, didn’t smell like beer or smoke or another man’s cologne.He must’ve showered before he left.The thought made his stomach roil with jealousy, which is why he asked, “Where’ve you been?” before he could stop himself, voice tinged with all the bitterness he felt.

“Went to Trina’s,” Whizzer answered easily. “Visited Jason for a while.”

_This_ made Marvin turn to look at him fully.Out of all the horrible things he’d expected to hear, that certainly hadn’t been one of them.Whizzer, honest to god, looked like he could be telling the truth.There were no new hickeys or bite marks lining his neck or collar or jaw, and his hair wasn’t even damp, so he actually couldn’t have showered before coming here.

Most of all he didn’t look like he’d been fucked.Marvin was so fucking used to him coming back hours after a fight, glassy-eyed and loose and limping.He looked about as on edge as he had when he left.

“Why?” Marvin asked him.

Whizzer sat on the couch - on the opposite end, naturally - and reached for the whisky, pouring some into the extra glass on the coffee table. _Huh._ Marvin hadn’t even realized he’d brought a second one.Whizzer shrugged at the question. “Dunno.Haven’t seen him for a while and he’s good company.We hung out til Trina made him go to bed.”

In a way, hearing that hurt more than if Whizzer would’ve just said _I sucked a guy off in a bathroom stall._

Jason loathed to spend _any_ time with Marvin, let alone an entire night.Marvin basically had to force into every interaction, usually with a bribe.The fact that Jason would readily spend time with Whizzer hurt more than it probably should, and that coupled with the fact that _Mendel_ was now the most permanent father figure in Jason’s life meant that Marvin was his…what?

_Disappointing deadbeat biological dad,_ his brain helpfully supplied.

Marvin sighed, sinking into the cushions. “That’s nice,” he said, in a tone of voice suggesting he thought anything but.

Whizzer only spared him half a glance before refocusing his attention on the TV.

The space between them had never felt so wide before, the distance of the couch so inexplicably uncrossable.Even all the other times they’d fought before, they always made up - after a good, passionate screw, of course.But this was so quiet, so defeated.There wasn’t passion at all, just silence.Marvin wondered if this was what love felt like when it was dying.

God, he didn’t want that.No matter all their fights and how shitty things could get, he couldn’t really forget that he was still…shit, _in love_ with Whizzer.He wanted to say something, to figure this out, but for once in his life he didn’t know what to say. 

_Communication,_ his social studies teacher had told him, back when he was in eighth grade, _Is the most important thing in the world._ _It’s what creates balance and harmony among ecosystems.Without it, everything would be in anarchy._

Marvin had never been good at expressing his emotions, communicating properly.But maybe he’d be willing to try, if it could salvage this relationship.

“I get so pissed sometimes,” Whizzer said suddenly, cutting him to the chase.Marvin glanced at him.Whizzer wasn’t looking at him, his gaze focused instead on the flickering images on the television, eyes distant. “No real reason.Just pissed.You ever get that?”

Marvin looked at him. “Yeah.”

He wasn’t sure what Whizzer was trying to say.He couldn’t figure out if it was an apology, an explanation, an excuse.But he _did_ understand it to be something, at least.An olive branch, extended to him weakly.Whizzer didn’t say anything more, just sighed, the cadence too ambiguous to decipher what he was thinking from it.He put down his glass - he hadn’t even drunk anything - and swung his feet into Marvin’s lap, resting his heels on his thighs.After a moment, Marvin reached forward and squeezed his toe.

As minor a thing as it was, it was a compromise.A bridge being built between them, not burned.It was a tiny thing, barely more than a ghost, but it was good enough. 

Tonight, he’ll take it.Tonight, he’ll take anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tumblr: swayinginphosphorescence :)


	4. white noise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a visit from trina, and all that comes from it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> back to the future...  
> this is my personal favourite chapter thus far! just be warned that some of the stuff in the later half of the chapter could be considered quite heavy. not graphically, i'd use a warning otherwise, but note there are brief mentions of suicide.

The knocking starts at eight in the morning, when he’s taking a piss in the bathroom.Not just the regular three-raps-and-a-pause type knocking, but loud, relentless banging that rattles the door in its frame.

Marvin flushes the toilet and creeps out into the hall.He’s kind of hoping one of the neighbours pokes their head out and scares the person so he doesn’t have to see who it is.He’s not in the mood for visitors.Especially not when they sound like they’re trying to break the fucking door down. 

Abruptly, the knocking stops.Marvin does too, leaning against the kitchen doorway, narrowing his eyes at the door.

“Marvin!Open the door!”

Trina.Why the fuck is _Trina_ here?

“I know you’re home, open the _door!_ ” She waits a moment. “I’ll get in some way or another!”

Reluctantly, he inches toward the door, because he knows Trina is about as stubborn as he is and would sooner climb to his window - on the eleventh story, mind - before leaving without getting what she wanted.The instant the door creaks open she shoves her way inside.

He turns and watches her back as she storms past him. “What the hell is this?”

“Consider this an intervention,” she says firmly, spinning on him. “You haven’t left this place in three damn weeks.” Trina walks to the kitchen and Marvin trails after her, somewhat of a lost puppy.She opens the fridge and scans the shelves. “There’s no _food_ in here.  When was the last time you ate a real meal?” She studies the shadows under his eyes. “Or _slept?”_

Marvin thinks it’s worth mentioning that all he _does_ is sleep, practically.  When he’s not at work or with Charlotte and Cordelia he’s either asleep or trying to.

“Give me a break, Trina,” he mutters, not having the energy to explain himself and his pathetic existence.  For someone who constantly slept you’d think he’d be less tired. “My boyfriend just died.” Yes, he’ll go there.He’ll go there if it gets her out of his hair.

Trina huffs loudly, looking around the room, clearly tired of him.That makes two of them.She’s biting her lip, as if she has a retort on her tongue she’s forcing herself not to say. “I know, but we’re worried about you,” she finally states. “You –” She hesitates, but seems to gather the balls enough to get out, “You’re not the only one who misses him, you know.  We all do.But you can’t just…shut yourself away in here.At this rate, we’ve lost two people instead of one.”

It was a low blow, and Marvin glares at her.  He’s tempted to reveal the possibility that they would _,_ in fact, lose him (eventually, sometime in the future), but he doesn’t.  Their family is going through enough emotional strife at the moment without the added information that _hey!  I’m gonna die too!Sorry about that!_

“Sorry my grieving isn’t up to your standards,” he says acidly. “What exactly do you want me to do?Take yoga classes?Write poetry?Attend a fucking séance?” Ghost Whizzer would be insufferable, he thinks.Even more-so than he was when he was alive.The medium would probably hate him.The thought makes him almost laugh.

Trina frowns, but her eyes went softer with the same look of half sadness, half pity she always has while talking to him now, which infuriates him to no end.  It’s like he has the words _fragile, handle with care_ stamped on his forehead.

“No,” she says. “We just want to see you again.  We miss you.”

Sure. “Sorry,” he says.  He isn’t, really, but it’s what Trina wants and/or needs to hear.

She sighs, looking all at once about as exhausted as he does.The circles under her eyes are darker than usual, giving her whole face a grey, sickly hue.Her earlier bravado is fading fast.

“Okay, listen,” Trina says. “Jason’s sleeping over at his friend’s this weekend for his birthday party.” Something must show in his face, because she quickly adds, “I know what you’re thinking, but Mendel thinks it would be good for him, having something to take his mind off of - everything for a little while.”

Marvin doesn’t say anything.  He can’t say he disagrees; he sure as hell doesn’t want Jason to be as miserable as him.Even still, it feels too soon, like they’re pushing him too hard.But it could be he’s just an outlier in this whole grief thing, though, as it’s been three weeks and he feels pretty much the same as he did at the funeral.He’s not sure that’s normal or healthy.

“We were talking with Charlotte and Cordelia and they invited us over for drinks,” she goes on. _Shit._ “Including you.It might be nice to just…be with each other, you know?”

That’s the last thing he wants.The wake was bad enough. “No.”

“Come on, Marvin,” Trina says, her voice the most gentle it’s been while talking to him in…years, probably.“Jesus, it took us hours to convince Jason to go.All you need to do is walk next door.” Well, when she puts it like that, he just looks pathetic. “Please?”

Over the course of the next minute, Marvin runs his hands through his hair, crosses his arms, uncrosses them, rubs his eyes, and releases a rickety breath.  He takes a moment to reflect upon himself.He’s a mess, truly.Doesn’t eat, sleeps constantly, doesn’t clean up after himself, is toeing the line of being fired, and intentionally shuts himself away from his family when they try to be helpful.

Whizzer would be fucking ashamed of him.

“Fine.” He admits defeat. “I’ll go.” And if it’s only because the thought of Whizzer being disappointed in him makes him feel sick, that doesn’t bear mentioning.

Trina touches his arm gently.  He forces himself not to flinch away. “Thank you,” she says. “This is going to be fun, okay?  It will be great.” The way she says it makes it sound vaguely like a threat.

There’s no infliction to his voice as he says, “Right.”

Trina leaves after that, with nothing else to interrogate him about.  With a promise of “See you Friday!” she’s out the door, and Marvin is alone again.He groans into his hands.What a goddamn way to start the morning.

He can’t help but think that Trina and his neighbours have been planning this intervention for a while.The conversation with Cordelia yesterday and Trina’s visit today seem to aligned to be a coincidence.Marvin must truly be worrying them, if even Trina is this concerned with his well-being.

It’s only Wednesday, which leaves him a few days to mentally prepare himself for the whole ordeal.He loves his friends, he does, but there’s only so much goodwill he can grunge up even for Cordelia and/or Charlotte’s two-minute visits.He doesn’t know how he’ll manage a whole night, at least not without the spirits. _Dear god let there be alcohol._

Marvin’s about to leave the kitchen when his eyes land on the folder of bar mitzvah pictures, still on the counter where he’d left them.He hadn’t forgotten about them, just didn’t really have it in him to look at them all the times he’d walked by.Right now, he’s feeling quite bold though, so he flips open the cover before he can properly assess whether or not it’s a good decision.He’s been doing that a lot lately, being impulsive.He’s not sure what to make of it.

There’s not many pictures, not that Marvin’s really surprised.It’s not like it was a very cheery affair that warranted making memories.The one at the top of the pile is a group shot, all sans Trina crowded together around the hospital bed.Everyone is dressed sharply, in their bar mitzvah clothes, suits and skirts - except Jason, who’s got a hoodie pulled over his dress shirt. _Everyone_ , of course, also excludes Whizzer, who’s swimming in his scrubs and looks all too much like death had warmed over, which, well.

The image immediately makes him feel like someone’s wringing his throat with a fist, so he quickly slides it to the bottom of the stack and flips through the remainder of the pictures, faster than he probably should.He doesn’t allow himself to give much thought to each photo, just shuffles through them so he can at least say he’s _looked_ at them, that he’s not this big of a fucking pussy.It’s just that it’s a day he doesn’t really want to _remember_ , given it was the day Whizzer died and all.

The last picture gives him pause.It’s candid, if the way Mendel has become an indecipherable blur in the background is anything to go by.In the centre, though, are Marvin and Whizzer, who the camera is focused on.Whizzer’s leaning against the bed, one hand loosely gripping the lapel of Marvin’s suit, staring at the floor.Marvin’s looking at Whizzer.He appears to be in the middle of saying something, and he’s looking at Whizzer with all the love in the world and -

Marvin drops the picture and slams the folder shut.

*

Friday is usually a day Marvin associates with good things: the start of the weekend, Jason’s visits, him and Whizzer going out for dinner, et cetera.But this particular Friday looms over him like it’s the date of his execution.

He could just not go.He could lock the door and not answer for anyone, just stay home.They can’t _make_ him go.But that makes him seem a whole new level of pathetic, and that’s the last thing he wants.He’s already pretty sure Trina and the rest of them consider him a mental case, and he doesn’t want to add anything to the ever-growing laundry list of concerning things about him.

So Friday rolls around, and he’s not getting out of this, so he showers and puts on clothes that are relatively fresh, and steels himself before heading next door.

It’s Cordelia who answers to his knocking, and she looks like she might cry when she sees him, which is not a promising start.She wraps him into a hug that is a lot tighter than you’d expect from her skinny arms, and he reciprocates with only the slightest hesitation.

Cordelia’s presence exudes warmth, as it always does, except today it feels more stifling than comforting. 

“Good to see you,” she says into his hair.

He pats her back in a way he hopes is moderately comforting. “Sure, sure.” He’d like to say he feels the same, but more than anything he wishes he wasn’t here, so that wouldn’t be quite the truth.

“Char’s out grabbing some last-minute stuff,” she tells him, leading him to the living room. “She’ll be back in a few.”

Marvin nods, but immediately loses focus on the conversation because blessedly, _mercifully,_ several alcohol bottles are lined up on the table like an answered prayer.He makes a beeline for the table and pulls out a chair.Cordelia winces as the wooden legs screech upon the floor, but doesn’t tell him off otherwise, something Marvin is grateful for.

Since he remains at least marginally classy, he reaches for the wine first rather than the hard liquor (that comes later).He pauses to squint at the label on the bottle.

“Is this mine?” he asks her.

Cordelia turns away guiltily. “Yes,” she admits. “We didn’t want you to -”

“I know,” he says curtly, and Cordelia bites her lip.Marvin offers to pour her a glass, something he believes is quite generous considering it’s _his_ fucking alcohol, but she shakes her head.

_I thought this was a get together for drinks,_ he thinks sourly, taking his first sip of wine.It’s Merlot, aged ten years, and Whizzer would have loved it, which sends another wave of anger rolling over him.He feels his worsening mood impending like a distant thunderstorm.

Marvin’s halfway drunk when Trina and Mendel show up.He’s surprised nobody’s stopped him, but it’s probably because while he’s in company he can actually be supervised.Whatever, he’s grateful for it.Two and a half glasses of wine and a shot of whisky really did the trick of numbing his senses.  It’s like being underwater, weightless and floaty, with the bad stuff looming above the surface, too hazy to make out.

Someone joins him at the table; he can see out of the corner of his eye someone pulling out a chair and sitting across from him.He blinks to focus his eyes and comes face to face with the curly hair and short stature of his ex-psychiatrist.

Mendel looks the same as always, tired and rumpled in his grandpa clothes.He’s a relic of the sixties, still living in a time that’s gone by.Marvin wants to tell him to get with it, to get his ass up to speed with the rest of them in the depressing here and now.

“How have you been?” The question is as hesitant as the smile on Mendel’s face.

“Peachy,” Marvin snaps, not feeling guilty when Mendel flinches a little.He downs the rest of his glass and stands up unsteadily, ready to pour himself another.If he’s going to have a conversation with Mendel he’s gonna need to be a bit more than _tipsy._

Mendel watches him snatch up the bottle of scotch by the neck. “Are you sure you should be -”

“Did _your_ boyfriend die?” The drink sloshes precariously into the glass, but mercifully nothing spills onto the table. “No?Then I don’t think you get an opinion on what I should or shouldn’t do with my alcohol.” God, he’s being a dick tonight.Whatever.It’s what they should’ve expected when they dragged him from his depressing grief nest into socializing with the rest of them.He’ll pull the Whizzer card as many times as he wants to avoid confrontation.It’s selfish, but he’s accustomed to being selfish.

Mendel just stares at him with sad eyes.Marvin fucking hates him for that.He thinks he might hate _Mendel_ at times, because how dare he be the worst psychiatrist on the planet and then marry his ex-wife and get a happy ending while all Marvin got was a dead lover and a bottle of whisky.And now Mendel has the audacity to look at him with pity, like he even feels bad.He never even liked Whizzer.

The alcohol sears going down Marvin’s throat.

Even after that outburst, Mendel is still here for some unfathomable reason.He’s tapping his fingers on the table in a discordant rhythm, looking a shade more apprehensive than he did earlier. _My mood’s put him off.Good._

“I’ve been thinking -” Oh, god. “I know you said you don’t want to talk to me anymore, and I respect that, but I can recommend some -”

“Go away,” Marvin says before he can finish. “I’m not your mental case anymore.”

“Exactly, that’s why I was gonna suggest some colleagues.They could help you, you know.” His eyes soften. “With processing your grief and stuff.”

_And stuff._ Marvin bristles. “If they’re anything like _you_ I think I’ll pass,” he says derisively.Mendel looks a tad hurt. “Go away.”

Mendel looks like he wants to say something more, but apparently Marvin’s bruised his ego enough for one night because he actually listens, standing and going to join the women in the corner.Marvin puts his head on the table, the coolness of its surface helping to dampen the headache that’s already begun to form.

People say that hurting other people’s feelings never really helps to make you feel better, but Marvin can’t say he agrees.It definitely doesn’t make him feel _worse,_ in any case.It’s all he’s wanted to say to Mendel for years.Anyway, he’s just got no brain-to-mouth filter tonight.It’s gratifying in its own small, pathetic way.The thing is, Marvin _knows_ he’ll never win against Mendel.Mendel’s the epitome of everything Marvin wanted to be while growing up; straight, raking in money, with a loving wife and child at home where they would live a respectable lifestyle all together.Marvin can’t compare to that now, can he? 

Marvin’s not jealous of Mendel, never really has been.He’s just become more self-aware of his actual feelings for Mendel, which amounts to disdain on a good day and downright _loathing_ on a bad one.Three guesses as to which he’s experiencing right now.

Marvin’s so lost in thought that he doesn’t pick up on the small conversation that’s begun in the corner until it’s been going on for a while, and he rolls his head to the side to observe it.Charlotte and Cordelia sit next to each other on the love-seat - fitting - while Trina takes the chair and Mendel stands above them awkwardly.In any other context, it would seem natural.Nothing looks out of place.It’s not fair that they all look the same while Marvin feels like he’s aged ten years in the span of a month.

Marvin tunes in in time to hear Trina say, “This has just been a hard time for him, you know?I’m just happy he chose to go tonight.”

The lesbians nod sympathetically.It’s hard to know whether they’re talking about Jason or Marvin.How embarrassing.

“This amount of stress isn’t good for someone so young,” Mendel adds.Jason, then. “It’s good for him.”

“Us too.” Trina smiles, a little shaky.She raises her glass in something of a toast. “This is nice.” Marvin rolls his eyes. “I mean, it’s been a while since we’ve all hung out together.”

_I wonder why,_ Marvin thinks but doesn’t say.

“Yeah,” Cordelia agrees belatedly.Her smile is real, though it doesn’t meet her eyes.Marvin feels slightly gratified for that, though he feels a twinge of shame, too.What kind of person is he, taking pleasure in other people’s pain?

“Yeah.” Mendel seconds.He opens his mouth, no doubt about to go on about more psychiatry bullshit about why this was good for them.Marvin decides to nip that in the bud before it even happens.

“Oh, hell yeah!” The words leave Marvin’s mouth before he can stop them, head jerking up off the table. “Just a - a fucking riot, isn’t it?” His speech is slurred practically beyond comprehension.But they’re hearing him, and they understand if the constipated looks on their faces is anything to go by.

It’s sickening.The same old expressions of worry/sadness/pity that were originally for Whizzer, but since his death have been redirected to Marvin.He fucking hates it.Right how, he hates all of them.

He’s speaking before he can really think through whether or not it’s appropriate to. “I mean, it’s almost like Whizzer’s here with us!” Marvin raises his glass in something of a toast, and the silence slams forcefully down in light of the spoken taboo.Speaking Whizzer’s name is akin to eating pork in this house, apparently.

“What?” he asks, spitting the question right to their pale, dumb-struck faces. “Seriously, what?We can’t even say his fucking name anymore?”

It’s Trina who recovers first. “Jesus, Marvin,” she says, voice similar to that she uses when admonishing Jason, and the humiliation is immediate and jarring. “We never said that.It was just unexpected.”

Marvin snorts loudly.This time it’s Trina’s turn to angrily snap, “What?”

“It’s just - I think it’s funny.” He doesn’t really find it funny at all, but he’s laughing nonetheless. “Wasn’t this stupid party supposed to be, like…about us being all together?And like, you left me here in the corner by myself.” He tightens his fingers around the rim of the glass, still half-full. “Like, kinda misses the point, don’t you think?”

“We’ve only been here ten minutes."

“I’ve gotten _drunk_ in that time," Marvin challenges. "You could have said hello _,_ at least _.”_ Trina scowls at him. “What’s the point of you even _being_ here?”

“I - _we’re_ here because we care.” The meaning of the words are undercut by the venom in her voice. “Isn’t it obvious?”

“So obvious,” Marvin agrees sarcastically, and here he is again, arguing with Trina.It’s all they ever do, argue.They can hold somewhat civil conversations in the presence of Jason, for his sake rather than their own, but once they’re alone again it’s the same old.Snappish words, harsh tone, vicious glares.He doesn’t think that will ever change. “You definitely fucking _care_.Just admit that you only invited me here so you can feel less shitty about your own guilt and save us the damn time.”

What she’d be guilty for, he has no idea, but he can see it her eyes and hear it in her voice, every time she looks or talks to him.He’s become so accustomed to guilt that he can sense it in anyone, now.

“Wejust care about you,” she says again, as if repeating it will make a difference. “God, Marvin - do you have any idea how worrying it is to call you, _repeatedly_ , and have no response, especially when you haven’t left your fucking place in over a week?”

“What are you talking about?”

Trina’s voice is tight as she says, “Shiva ended a week ago and we haven’t seen you since then!You’ve refused to pick up the phone or check in with _anyone._ What the hell were we supposed to think?” Her mouth is a wrinkled little clamp as she presses her lips together.The tremble in her voice could be from anger, but it also could allude to fear.

He’s so, so fucking angry.But if he thinks too hard about why he might come up empty, so he doesn’t think at all. “If I were you I’d assume I was dealing with this on my own and I’d keep my head out of another person’s business, _Trina_.”

“Whizzer died and it was like you fell off the face of the earth!” she shouts, voice shrill and tight with barely controlled emotion. “We were worried about you, alright?Why is that so horrible?”

Something deep within him snaps, and the dark, angry things that have been coiling in his stomach leap forward out of his mouth.“What would you think I’d fucking do, Trina?” His voice doesn’t even sound like his own, harsh and guttural and massacred by alcohol and anger. “ _Kill_ myself?”

He didn’t expect all four of them to flinch so obviously.Guilt is scrawled over every inch of their faces.It sobers him like a bucket of cold water.

“Wait, was that what this is about?” he says. No one says anything.Marvin can’t fucking believe this. “You’d think I’d do that?” The idea is laughable.He wants to laugh.He wants to tell them _I won’t need to, because I have what Whizzer had and sooner or later it’s gonna come and take me too._

He bites the words off his tongue before they can escape, swallows them with the remainder of his whisky. “How pathetic do you think I am?” he growls instead. “I survived without him for two years, I’m getting by just fine.” The unspoken _that was different_ hangs in the air, and before someone can voice what they’re all thinking, he forcefully adds, “Fuck you, honestly.”

It’s directed at Trina, which he doesn’t think is fully fair, because he’s truly pissed at _everyone_ right now.So he addresses them all when he says, “Seriously, fuck you.If you’re gonna put me on fucking suicide watch at least tell me outright. _Jesus.”_

“Marvin, that’s not why -” Cordelia tries, but Marvin cuts her off.

“Listen, just because I haven’t been in the mood for a fucking _party_ doesn’t mean I’d fucking _do_ something like that.” This is unbelievable.He’s so, so angry.Glaring at them again, he says, “But clearly you don’t understand that.You come in here and drink and talk like someone didn’t just fucking _die._ ” He doesn’t know where the words are coming from, but they’re rising in his throat and spilling from his mouth like vomit, souring and poisoning the world around him. “I’m oh-so sorry that I haven’t been in the mood to _hang out_.I’m so _sorry.”_

He slams his glass down, and this time it does break, a thin spiderweb of cracks crawling from the bottom up the sides.Somehow it doesn’t fall apart in his hands.It’s a laughable metaphor for their family; nothing but a bunch of splintered fragments held together by sheer force of will alone.

The sad thing is, Marvin knows he loves them, all of them, in some capacity.He just can’t remember how to feel it right now.It feels like they’ve forced him to come as some kind of sick ploy, where they can rub in his face how good they still have it while Marvin’s all alone, which he knows is crazy and illogical, but he can’t help it.He’s too drunk and too sad and everything is too raw and he can’t fucking _take_ this tonight; he’ll strangle someone if he stays here a minute longer. 

So he gets up and announces, “I’m going home.”

None of them make a move to stop him.They don’t do anything at all.Cordelia and Charlotte look torn, like they want to get up and make sure he makes it next door without keeling over, but they don’t move.He’s probably hurt all their feelings.Scared them all. 

The lesbians have never seen him act like this; only to Trina and Mendel is this behaviour familiar.The last time he had acted like this, it was two years ago, and he’d just kicked Whizzer out, and had received a wedding invitation as he was in the process of getting blackout drunk.It makes him feel kind of sick to know he’s regressed so much into the asshole he used to be.

Wherever he is now, Marvin sure hopes Whizzer didn’t bear witness to what just happened.He’d be so, horribly disappointed in him.Somehow, that thought makes him feel worse than the hurt expressions on all his friends’ faces combined.

He only makes it as far as the living room, falling backwards onto the couch when he feels too heavy to walk any further.The ceiling above him blurs, and he doesn’t have time to think about anything else before the world swirls into blackness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!! i appreciate all of your kudos and comments!!!!!! i read them every day when i need to be motivated and it really works!


	5. highway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a certain baseball game, a talk, some scrabble

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the longest chapter yet!!!!!! hope you enjoy the respite from the angst haha :)

In his defence, when Jason hit the ball - _actually hit it,_ holy shit - Marvin grabbed onto the first thing within reach as he launched himself to his feet.Not his fault that the first thing within reach just so happened to be Whizzer’s arm, and he didn’t let go even after Jason rounded the plates and raced all the way home to raucous cheering from his bench and the bleachers.Marvin’s heart swelled at the sight of _his kid_ being the hero of the game, winning it in the final inning with an unlikely hit over the fence.He was so fucking proud he was kind of light-headed, though that could’ve been from something else. _Something else_ being that Whizzer was here, and Marvin was touching him for the first time in two years.

His hand was still clutching the sleeve of Whizzer’s jacket, one he’d never seen before.With more reluctance than he should probably feel, he released Whizzer’s arm and wiped his sweaty palm on his pants.

Whizzer glanced at him inquisitively, to which Marvin offered a sheepish shrug. “Sorry, I’m too involved in this game.Did you know that’s the first time Jason’s ever hit the ball?”

“Nope.” Whizzer turned his gaze back toward the field.Mendel and Trina were already on there way to the diamond, along with throngs of other parents who had gone to collect their kids. “But I’m not really surprised after seeing his batting stance.”

Marvin laughed a little, trying not to feel self-conscious.He was all too aware of his messy hair and old jeans and hoodie, his generally unkempt appearance.Then again, it was easy to look disheveled compared to Whizzer, who still looked like a fucking supermodel _,_ even hotter than he was two years ago.But if Marvin thought about that too much he’d get hard for sure, and he’d rather die than experience _that_ level of embarrassment. 

“Thanks for coming,” he found himself saying, despite the fact that his head still felt like it was floating a few inches above the rest of his body. “You just gave the Blue Devils their first win of the season.”

At home plate, Jason was being mobbed by his team-mates, cheering and jumping and dog-piling onto him.Beside him, Whizzer just shrugged. “I just taught him how to swing properly.Not the kids’ fault their coach doesn’t know what he’s doing.”

“I don’t know what you expected from the Jewish little league,” Marvin said, and Whizzer let out a surprised laugh.

A familiar, longing sensation twisted in Marvin’s chest at the sound.An instant later, he beat that sensation back, internally screaming, _Don’t go there.Not again._

His inner turmoil is interrupted by Charlotte’s voice calling, “Hey, Whizzer Brown.” Whizzer turned his head, and Marvin followed suit to face the women still perched on the bleachers.Charlotte had her chin in her hand and was watching Whizzer contemplatively. “Know a thing or two about baseball, huh?”

“Oh, yeah.” Whizzer smiled, boyish charm bubbling to the surface, his shoulders relaxing.Marvin hadn’t even noticed how tense they were. “I mean, I played a bit in high school.”

“Pitcher?” Charlotte guessed.

“Yeah.” His eyebrows raised in something like surprise. “How’d you know?”

“Your legs are really damn long.”

Apparently that meant something, because Whizzer laughed, nose crinkling, and Marvin could tell just by the cadence that he was much more at ease in this conversation than he was when talking to him.Jealousy twinged irrationally in the pit of his stomach and he turned away, only to meet Cordelia’s gaze.

Charlotte and Whizzer went on talking about baseball jargon, and Cordelia raised her eyebrows at him, subtly nodding in Whizzer’s direction.Marvin shrugged in the tiniest of gestures, and Cordelia smirked knowingly.

Jason raced over a short time later, Mendel making a valiant effort to keep up while holding all Jason’s baseball equipment in a haphazard pile in his arms.He ran to Whizzer first, plowing straight into him and wrapping his skinny arms around his waist.

“I hit a home run!” His voice was squeaky and face flushed with excitement. “You saw, right?”

“’Course I did, kiddo.” Whizzer was grinning unabashedly at him, face so bright it was like sunlight was bleeding from his pores.He seemed almost more thrilled than Jason. “I knew you could do it!”

Jason released Whizzer from his hug and stuck out his hand, where he was clutching a beat-up baseball that was probably white at one point in time. “I got the game ball.Coach said he was really impressed.”

The pair of them high-fived and hugged again, uncaring that they were being watched by the rest of the family.Mendel had finally caught up to the rest of them, and his gaze was currently flitting between his wife and his step-son, unsure of what to do, probably trying to gauge Trina’s reaction.Trina herself was watching the scene unfold blankly, mouth in a tight line.She clearly hadn’t forgotten the days of when Jason looked up to and respected and listened to Whizzer more than his own parents, and didn’t regard those memories with much fondness.

Marvin remembered those days too, and while back then he’d found himself full of bitter resentment and envy, he couldn’t say he felt the same now.Watching Jason and Whizzer - his _ex,_ he forcibly reminded himself - interact made him feel warm and light, happy.Whizzer had always been good with Jason, from the moment they’d met.

Presumably wanting help in separating the two, Trina looked to him, but suddenly hesitated.Her eyes narrowed, and it was only then that Marvin noticed he was smiling, affection in his eyes.Quickly, he schooled his face back into a neutral expression. _He’s your ex,_ he told himself again.He found himself not really caring.

Trina rolled her eyes and turned away, realizing she’d find no help from him. “Jason, honey,” she called to him. “I know you’re…happy to see Whizzer, but the rest of the team is going to get ice cream now, and I’m sure you want to go.”

Jason grabbed Whizzer’s sleeve. “Will you come?” he pleaded. “You can meet my friends.They’ll like you, you’re so cool.” Marvin felt the collective _And we’re not?_ travel around the rest of the group.

“Don’t think I can, Jason, sorry.” Whizzer smiled apologetically. “Some other time, though.” The end of that statement had an upwards inflection, making it more of a question.He looked between Marvin and Trina and Mendel, hoping for a confirmation on that promise.

“That’s fine,” Trina said tightly, the obvious authority on this situation.Her face was twisted slightly, like she was sucking on a lemon, like letting Jason into Whizzer’s proximity was the last thing she wanted to do. “He’ll come to your games again, Jason.Let’s go.”

Jason sighed sulkily, but obediently let go of Whizzer’s sleeve and went to her and Mendel, pausing only briefly to hand his game ball over to Marvin.

“Keep it until the weekend,” he explained.Then he cocked his head and added, “I thought you hated baseball.” In other words, _Why are you here?_ Marvin resisted the urge to wince at his accusatory tone.

“Well.” Marvin cleared his throat a bit.It wasn’t like his feelings had much changed over the course of one baseball game, the first of the season he’d dragged himself to attend. “It’s growing on me, let’s say.” He ruffled Jason’s hair, smiling when he scrunched his face and moved away in embarrassment. “Proud of you, kid.”

Jason looked almost flustered at the uncharacteristic display; he still wasn’t used to his father behaving like an actual _dad._ “Make sure you don’t lose it,” was all he said, gesturing to the ball.

“I won’t.”

With a final wave, Jason, Trina, and Mendel started across the field toward the rest of the team, still scattered around the diamond, parents congratulating their kids while at the same time trying to drag them to their cars.Charlotte and Cordelia departed a few minutes later, bitching about having to go back to their respective jobs.

“It was nice to meet you, Whizzer,” Cordelia said before they left, sticking her hand out for Whizzer to shake a second time. “Who knows, maybe we’ll even see you around.”

Charlotte and Cordelia shot him identical meaningful looks out of the corners of their eyes.Thankfully, Whizzer didn’t pick up on it, just smiled and offered a non-committal, “Maybe.”

They were gone soon after, traipsing off in the direction of the parking lot.The rest of the parents had already packed up and collected their kids and were gone, leaving the bleachers empty.For the first time that day - and in two years - Marvin was completely alone with Whizzer.Nerves were gnawing away at his stomach lining, and he played awkwardly with his fingers as he tried to think of what to say.Whizzer hadn’t made a move to leave yet, which he took as a good sign, that he wanted to stick around a while after, too.

No sooner than he thought that, Whizzer was saying, “I’m gonna head out now.”

Marvin looked over at him, panic flooding through him all at once. “No, wait,” he said hurriedly, before Whizzer could take a step. “Wait.We should talk, shouldn’t we?”

“About what?” Whizzer’s eyes were downcast, focused on where he was nudging the grass with the toe of his shoe.His fingers fiddled with his sunglasses, opening and closing the arms over and over.

“Well.” Marvin shrugged. “You know.We should get our shit sorted, right?”

Whizzer’s voice was suddenly cold as he said, “What _shit_ have we got to sort?I thought we were through.That’s what you fucking told me.” His eyes were sharp, cutting into Marvin.

“I - I know,” he said. “But…we’ve got some unresolved stuff between us.” Now it was Marvin’s turn to look away.He was terrified any second Whizzer was going to get sick of this conversation and walk away for good. “We never really talked, after…”

“That’s kind of the idea of a break-up, Marvin.”

“But I didn’t want that, I didn’t even want to _break up.”_

This made Whizzer freeze, fingers stilling where they ran across the bridge of his sunglasses.He swallowed visibly.

Marvin forced his voice to be gentle. “This is what I mean,” he said. “Unresolved shit.”

“I guess.” Whizzer’s voice was unsure, as was the expression on his face. 

Marvin had the sudden urge to drag Whizzer down by the collar of his shirt and kiss that look off his face.But he had enough self-preservation to realize that might be a terrible idea.

Whizzer was still talking, he realized belatedly, tuning back in time to hear Whizzer say, “…but I don’t want to do it here.”

Marvin blinked. “You actually wanna talk?”

“Weren’t you listening to anything I was saying?” Whizzer asked testily.He didn’t wait for a response. “ _Yes._ But not here.It’s too…” He shrugged, made a vague gesture. “ _Open_.”

Yeah, the bleachers in a Central Park baseball field wasn’t exactly the best place to have a conversation like this.Besides, if the whole thing goes awry, Marvin would prefer to be in the comfort of his own home to avoid public rejection or humiliation - or worse: _crying._ He hoped it didn’t come to that.

“My place?” he offered. Whizzer nodded, and fell in step with him as they headed to the parking lot.

Marvin tried to make it less obvious, how nervous he was.Whizzer didn’t seem to be, after all, hands jammed leisurely in his pockets, posture relaxed.But then again, Whizzer had always been a thousand times better at hiding his feelings than Marvin was.That was part of the reason they hadn’t worked out the first time.

Whatever, though.They hadn’t screamed at each other, yet.Whizzer hadn’t run away or laughed in his face; he’d _agreed_ to talk.That was a good sign.Marvin repeated that to himself as they walked to his car.

_He wants to talk.That’s good.That’s good._ They would talk, and get their shit sorted out before the end of the day.Whether it ended well or horribly was up in the air, but at least it would be _over with_.It would be better than continuing to sit in this perpetual limbo of _does he hate me does he miss me does he think of me does he think of me?_

They would talk and no matter what, everything would be fine.

**

It was just after six-thirty when Marvin woke up, and Whizzer was curled in the tangle of sheets, asleep.Evidence that the baseball game and the sex that had immediately followed wasn’t just a really nice, really elaborate wet dream. 

In regards to that, _Shit._ How the fuck had that even managed to happen?They were supposed to talk, they were _going to_ talk.That was the whole reason Whizzer had agreed to come.But for some reason the car ride over had been so sexually tense that the moment they had stepped over the threshold of Marvin’s apartment they’d been on top of each other, kissing as hungrily and greedily as they did two years ago, leaving a trail of clothes on the floor leading to the bedroom.

Marvin was aware that wasn’t exactly a good decision.At the time, though, it seemed like the greatest idea ever conceived, and it wasn’t like _Whizzer_ was saying no, either.Marvin’s cock had missed Whizzer as much as he did, apparently, because just being in a car with him for twenty minutes had left him with a boner so huge Whizzer had definitely noticed it.And done something about it, thankfully.

And now they were here.Whizzer was still conked out, and would probably remain that way for a while longer, leaving Marvin some extra time to prepare himself for when Whizzer actually got up and they’d be forced to have that _talk_ of theirs.He left Whizzer in bed, pausing briefly to tuck the covers up under his chin, put on the clothes from earlier today, and walked out.

After a brief spout of pacing, Marvin found himself in the kitchen.It was around dinner, and especially after the day’s…activities…he should be starving.He wasn’t though; he was too nervy, anxiety coiling in his stomach like rope.But there was no telling if Whizzer would feel the same, and Marvin figured the least he could do, after everything, was fix him something for when he woke up.

He poked his head in the fridge and took in the fact that he was disastrously low on anything actually edible.Cordelia had been experimenting so much recently, what with the upcoming bar mitzvah and a bunch of other catering jobs, that she’d been shovelling leftovers onto him by the bucketload.Marvin still had some left, but he wasn’t sure if they really fell into the _edible_ category.Forcing Whizzer to eat gefilte fish that tasted more like a turd than anything else didn’t seem like the best idea to win him over.

He decided to make an omelet.More of a breakfast food, really, but it was one of the four dishes he knew how to make, with what he had available, that wouldn’t make Whizzer throw up.

As he rummaged through the cabinets, in search of clean dishes, he stumbled upon a few bags of earl grey stuffed in the back of one of the cabinets.Given that Marvin hated all tea with a fervour, he could easily determine that these tea bags were, in fact, Whizzer’s.Artifacts from a time that felt so long ago.Marvin remembered coming across these in the earliest days of their breakup, and rather than throwing them out, he’d just stuffed them further back into the cupboard, out of sight.He didn’t know why anymore; probably out of some irrational hope that he might see Whizzer again someday.

It gave him a strange feeling; who knew his shitty, impossible dream would turn out to be reality.He put the kettle on the stove beside the pan.

It was only a quarter to seven when all the food was ready, and he sat on the opposite end of the table from where Whizzer’s plate was set up, steam rising from the mug in wisps as the bag steeped into the water.He drummed his fingers against the table as he waited, feeling jittery, all too aware of the person asleep in his bed.

He didn’t know why he was so nervous to talk to Whizzer.It was just _Whizzer._ He’d spoken to him hundreds of times.It wasn’t like much rode on this conversation; if it went badly, nothing would really change in his life.There were no stakes here - except Marvin’s happiness, maybe, but that really didn’t mean much in the grand scheme of things.But it meant a lot to him.Even if this conversation didn’t affect the world, it would affect _him._ That was enough for it to matter.

Marvin sat there until his ass fell asleep on the chair, yet he didn’t dare move from that spot.Whizzer was taking so long to show up that he was beginning to worry that he’d climbed out the window and left via the fire escape.He honestly wouldn’t put something like that past him, going overboard in order to avoid a conversation was something he’d come to expect from Whizzer.

But he’d no sooner started to think that when he heard floorboards creaking down the hall, a muffled yawn.What felt like a moment later, Whizzer appeared in the kitchen doorway, wearing only his briefs.He blinked tiredly at Marvin, carded a hand through his hair in an attempt to tame his wild bedhead.

“Morning?” he said, voice gravelly.The sun had just barely begun to set outside, bathing the whole kitchen in blue light.It was hard to tell whether it was dawn or dusk.

“Not quite,” Marvin told him.

Whizzer didn’t reply, just continued to stand awkwardly in the doorway.Marvin wasn’t sure where to look.Was it polite or appropriate to look at Whizzer’s half-naked body when they weren’t together anymore?It clearly hadn’t mattered to him two hours ago, he didn’t really know why he was so worried now.Probably because he’d had time to reflect on his terrible decision.

“Whizzer, uh…” It was strange to say his name, considering the last time he’d said it he’d been moaning it into the back of Whizzer’s neck.He made a vague gesture toward the food opposite him. “I made you something.If you want.”

Whizzer eyed the display, expression unreadable. “You can cook?” he asked, like it was the most unbelievable concept in the world.Knowing Marvin’s talent, or lack thereof, in the kitchen, he couldn’t blame him for thinking so.

Marvin nodded, tried a smile. “It’s probably cold now,” he admitted sheepishly. “You were out longer than I expected.” At Whizzer’s quizzical look, he added, “It’s eight.”

Whizzer didn’t acknowledge how late it was or how gross and soggy the food looked by now.He just pulled out the chair and sat.Marvin watched, somewhat nervously _,_ as Whizzer took a bite of the omelet. “It’s pretty good.” He sounded pleasantly surprised.His eyes met Marvin’s and one side of his mouth quirked up in a half-smile. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” he said, somehow managing to not reveal that his heart was _soaring_ in his chest. 

The rest of the meal passed mostly in silence, Whizzer only breaking it once after his first sip of no-doubt freezing tea to acknowledge that, “I thought you hated tea.” Marvin merely nodded, not elaborating as Whizzer clearly wished him too.Admitting that he’d never thrown out the teabags from two years ago spoke of a whole new level of desperation that Marvin wasn’t about to admit he possessed.

Whizzer returned to the table after placing his plate and cup in the sink, and it was then that Marvin finally decided to address the elephant in the room.

“We should talk now, I guess.”

“I guess,” Whizzer echoed.But neither made a move to speak first.The tension hung thick in the air, almost palpable.

Marvin was acutely aware he only had one shot at this conversation, one shot at making this right.Whizzer wasn’t one for offering second chances to people; fuck up and you’ll never see him again, as far as he was concerned. 

_But this is a second chance,_ the voice in Marvin’s head reminded him. _Just being here is giving you a second chance._

Even with that thought, he found the prospect of speaking first a daunting task.He knew an apology was in order, he owed Whizzer that and much more, but he didn’t know where to start.How was he supposed to make up for almost a year of hurt and anger with a mere apology?There was so much he regretted, so much he was sorry for.If he opened his mouth and started apologizing, he’d never be able to stop.

So he didn’t.Not yet. “You’ve been in contact with Jason, right?” was how he decided to break the silence. 

Whizzer glanced up.After a moment, he nodded.

“Same number?”

“…Yes.”

Something in his chest sunk.Somehow he expected… “I thought you’d changed your number,” Marvin said quietly.He stared at his hands. “You never picked up my calls.”

He couldn’t see Whizzer’s eyes, but could feel his gaze burning into him, eyes no doubt as dark and bottomless as they always were. “I needed more than a phone call,” he eventually said.

“I called you a _million_ times.” Marvin felt a twinge of frustration in his chest, similar to the ones he’d felt all those times he’d sat by the phone, hoping that _this time_ maybe Whizzer would pick up, only for the line to pass over to the voicemail.Just like back then, the frustration was drowned out by misery. “For weeks.I left messages.Everything.What else was I supposed to do?”

“I don’t know, Marvin.” Marvin looked up, surprised by the sharpness of Whizzer’s voice. “A visit might’ve been nice.An apology to my face.If you’d really _cared,_ you would’ve done more than a phone call.”

“If you cared, you would’ve _picked up.”_

Whizzer averted his gaze, swallowing.He focused on his hands, picked at the skin around his nails.It was a nervous tic of his; Marvin recognized it even now. “You kinda broke my heart,” Whizzer said, voice barely loud enough to be a whisper.It was startling and unnatural to hear him sound so small. “I didn’t want to pick up because I knew whatever you said meant I’d go running back.I didn’t want that, then.”

Two years ago, he might’ve been satisfied to hear Whizzer had been hurting the way he was.Now it just made him feel like shit. “Well,” Marvin said. “You kinda broke mine, so I’d say we’re even.” Whizzer’s fingers froze where they were pushing down his thumbnail’s cuticle. “I’m serious.I…” This was going to be difficult.He took a breath and steeled himself. “I know it never seemed like it, but I loved you, Whizzer.I regretted everything I did to you the second you left.I _still_ regret it.”

Whizzer’s mouth twisted, and he jerked his head in acknowledgement, but he said nothing.He was still clearly waiting for something.Just owning up and admitting he was wrong wasn’t good enough; he needed to _apologize._ Say the words _I’m sorry._ It shouldn’t be this hard.

Marvin had done plenty of apologizing in the last two years.To Trina, Jason, even fucking _Mendel,_ once he knew he could do it without laughing or throwing up.Now he was faced with the task of making arguably the most important apology of them all, and the words felt stuck in his throat.

Thankfully, Whizzer picked up the slack. “It wasn’t just you,” he said. “There’s a lot of stuff I did wrong, I know.I regret a lot, too.” He sighed, and tilted his head thoughtfully.His eyes gauged Marvin’s reaction as he added, “But not everything.”

Something like the beginnings of _hope_ curled within him. “Not everything?”

Whizzer nodded. “Some of it was good, wasn’t it?”

And Marvin thought of the kisses, the sweet-talking, the sex, the sweet and playful moments in bed late at night.How alive he’d felt in Whizzer’s presence.The times he could forget all the bad things and realize it might not be so bad to be in love with Whizzer after all.

“Yeah,” said Marvin. “Some of it was.”

“I missed it.” He rested his chin in his hand, whispering like he was admitting a secret. “I never stopped thinking about it.”

This was the most open Whizzer had ever been in any conversation they’d ever had together.For the first time, Marvin realized that he might have not been the only one who’d changed in the years they were separated.He’d been so ready to go back and beg for a second chance, fully aware that Whizzer would be the same mean, closed-off, secretive person he remembered.Maybe it wouldn’t come to that.

“I missed it, too.” He paused. “I missed _you.”_

Whizzer’s expression didn’t shift.His eyes weren’t as cold and void of emotion as they used to be; they’re softer, warmer.Something _has_ changed.

Then, “So did I.”

After a second of deliberation, Marvin stood up and made his way around the table, dropping down into the chair next to Whizzer.They were close enough that their knees bumped as Whizzer turned to face him, close enough that Marvin could make out practically every minute detail of his face, down to the faint cracks on his dry lips and the reddish skin along his jaw where he’d been rested his head on his hand.

Whizzer tilted his head, simply asking, “What now?”

Well, this was the hardest part, wasn’t it? “Um,” he began, and instantly cursed himself. _What a way to start, Marvin._ “I was thinking…”

“You wanna get back together.” It was a statement, not a question, Whizzer’s tone far too unreadable.

Feeling kind of mortified at how well Whizzer could still read him, Marvin just nodded.He couldn’t really deny it.

It only took a second for Whizzer to say, “I don’t know.”

Somehow, that was worse than a straight _no._ He knew Whizzer well enough, even now, to know when he said that, he definitely meant _no_ and was just toying with you.Giving you hope before crushing you.

“What?” Marvin said.Even if it was an answer he was bracing himself to hear, it still hurt like a bitch. “Why not?”

Whizzer sighed, shaking his head slightly like he was addressing something pathetic.He sat back, leaning away from Marvin. “How would it be any different from last time?” he asked, voice sounding far too defeated to belong to Whizzer. “Like, we’ve always been so different.We’re always going to clash, that’ll never change.That was the problem the first time, right?”

“Not all of it,” Marvin said, the hurt he felt manifesting into anger, as it always did. “I mean, it didn’t help that you never committed to me, and you were always so secretive, and you made me fucking _beg_ for your affection -” _Like a fucking dog for scraps._

“Don’t pin this all on me.” And there he was again, the fiery, angry Whizzer he knew.His voice had a sharp edge to it. “What about you?You never treated me like anything more than your goddamn housewife.You wanna talk about begging for affection?” He laughed bitterly. “You weren’t _around_ enough for me to beg for affection.You were always at Trina’s, trying to play house with her.You wanted it _all_ , Marvin, and I -”

“I wanted too much.” Marvin’s voice was quiet, and at once, Whizzer cut himself off.There was a long, eerie pause in wake of those words.

“What did you say?”

Marvin swallowed. “I wanted too much,” he repeated. “Y’know, I was raised to think the only way I’d succeed in life was if I ended up with a wife and kid.” He half-expected Whizzer to interject here, complain that he didn’t care about his life story.But he didn’t, he just sat there, watching. “So I didn’t want to lose it, after I’d found it, because _despite everything_ I’d fucking got it.Even after I met you, I tried to keep it.Even though I wanted you, too.” He sighed, shook his head slightly. “And by wanting to keep everyone close, I just pushed everyone away.”

Whizzer still didn’t say anything, just bit into his bottom lip, eyes scrutinizing him.

He inhaled a deep breath. “It took me so long to realize that all I really wanted was you,” Marvin went on, voice somehow not revealing the fact that he felt on the verge of a stroke. “More than anything else.But by then I’d fucked it all up.I just…” He trailed off, unable to find the words.

_Just fucking say you’re sorry!_ the voice inside his head screamed.

Whizzer beat him to the chase. “Don’t give yourself all the credit,” he said, voice too calm, too measured to be natural. “I was a jackass too, like you said.” His mouth twisted, and he eventually got out, “I’d never liked someone the way I like you.It scared me.”

Like.He said _like_.Present tense.Marvin took Whizzer by the wrist wrist, tugging him slightly forward.Before he could reconsider it, he reached up to pull Whizzer into a hug.Whizzer tensed at the touch, like a deer in the headlights, but it only took a second for his shoulders to relax, and for him to wrap his arms around Marvin’s waist in turn.It was awkward, timid, but there.That was what mattered, in the end.

Here, in the warmth of Whizzer’s embrace and the tentative promise of something new, Marvin worked up the courage to say, “I’m sorry.” The words were pressed into the top of Whizzer’s head, spoken into his hair. “The way I treated you was so wrong.I’m so sorry.I can’t tell you how sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Whizzer nestled his face into the space where Marvin’s neck and shoulder met, the space that had unofficially become _his_ whenever they hugged.It was so comforting and familiar Marvin could fucking cry. “I’m sorry, too.I shouldn’t have acted like I never cared.” He pulled back briefly so he could look Marvin in the face as he said, “I did care, Marvin.I _do_ care.Really.”

They stayed there, unmoving, close enough that their noses brushed.So close that if one of them leaned forward even slightly, they’d be kissing.But neither of them did. 

Marvin said, “I know you might not…want to get back together, right now.” He studied Whizzer as he said it, trying to analyze his reaction. “Or you’re not sure.But I swear I can be good to you.We can be good together.”

“You don’t think it’d end like last time?” Whizzer looked more vulnerable than he’d ever seemed when he wasn’t _sleeping._ That had to mean something.Marvin fucking hoped so.

“Not if we try, kid,” Marvin told him, the term of endearment falling from his lips so easily. “And I’ll try.I swear I will.” He steeled himself, and said, “I love you, Whizzer.I want to be with you, if you’ll let me.”

If the look on his face was anything to go by, Whizzer had clearly not misheard Marvin’s little confession back there.He shook his head slightly, the gesture managing to convey the words, _You really are hopeless._ Then he simply said, “I’ll try, too.”

Something passed between them, something that didn’t need words.An understanding, of sorts.A promise.

Whizzer smirked a little. “It’ll be catastrophic,” he said, echoing his words from over two years ago.The callback made Marvin bark out a surprised laugh.

“Not this time,” he said. “We’ll work on it.”

Whizzer’s smirk faded into something more genuine.A _real_ smile, the first of the evening. “Got it.”

In the stillness of the kitchen, late at night, they continued to hold each other close.

And sure, there was still a lot to sort through, things still left uncovered and unresolved, things they still needed to apologize and atone for, but that was alright.

They had time.

**

Two months after the baseball game, on the first Wednesday in June, came Marvin’s birthday.He spent the night just as he had the past two years: with Charlotte and Cordelia, drinking homemade margaritas and eating the cake Cordelia had made and playing strip Scrabble around the coffee table.The only difference this year was that, instead of three people in attendance, there were four.

It had only taken a few days for Whizzer to become the unofficial fourth member of their little group.The girls had initially been slightly wary of him, knowing what his and Marvin’s relationship had previously been like, but any doubts they’d had had apparently been chased away.Now they were the best of friends, much to Marvin’s great pleasure.

They were halfway through their nth game; they’d played too many and were too tipsy to remember which number they were on at this point.Cordelia and Marvin were pantless.Charlotte was still almost fully dressed, inarguably the best at this game, but she, too, had removed her pants in solidarity.And then there was Whizzer, inarguably the worst, in nothing but his boxers and one sock.

“Crowdy?” Whizzer scoffed as soon as Marvin’s hands cleared the board enough to see the tiles. “That can’t be a fucking word.”

To be honest, he was probably right, but Marvin swore he heard this word before somewhere. “Ever think the reason you lose all the time is ‘cause you challenge every word I put down?”

“Only because they’re not real words.” At Marvin’s eye roll, he demanded, “Prove it’s a word, then.Define it.”

There was a brief silence. “It’s a synonym for crowded,” he explained weakly. “Like, ‘there were a lot of people, so the room was crowdy.’”

Marvin was met by three unimpressed stares.

“I see why you’re a lawyer,” Charlotte said. “Such a way with words.”

Whizzer kicked his legs onto the table, narrowly missing knocking the whole board on the floor. “I’m challenging,” he declared. “Cordelia, search it up.”

Cordelia, the designated word-checker of the night, dutifully hauled the dictionary into her lap and made a show of flipping threw the ‘C’ section in search of the word.Marvin pointedly ignored the smug look Whizzer was shooting his way.

“Oh, shit!” she said. “Crowdy actually _is_ a fucking word.But it’s a Scottish cheese, not whatever the hell Marvin was trying to say.” She slammed the book shut definitively. “It counts.Pay up, Whizzer.”

Whizzer groaned loudly, putting his head in his hands.Marvin’s triumphant laugh was cut short by Whizzer’s sock being flung in his face.

They only managed a few more rounds before Whizzer was, once again, for the millionth time, down to his last article of clothing.His word - _cat,_ good god - of course didn’t match Cordelia’s for points, and he glanced down at his underwear.

“We can’t keep avoiding this by starting a new round,” he informed them flatly. “I’m gonna do it.”

His hand hadn’t even touched his boxers before Charlotte jumped in with, “Aaaand that’s enough for one night.We’re gonna cut this off before I have to see Whizzer in his birthday suit.”

“It’s not even _your_ birthday, you selfish prick,” Cordelia added.

Whizzer rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “Get out of here.I have a birthday lap dance to give.” He met Marvin’s raised eyebrows with a knowing smirk.

They exchanged a hug or two, and with another cheer of _Happy birthday, Marvin!_ the girls took off for next door.Whizzer turned to him once the door slammed shut, but made no move to get up.Clearly he wasn’t going to make good on that promise of a lap dance.Yet, anyway.

“Thirty-fucking-six,” he whistled, sighing. “You’re getting to be an old man, Marvin.Soon enough you’ll not be able to walk anywhere.”

“Funny you should say that considering _you’re_ the one who can’t walk half the time.”

Whizzer’s mouth popped open in a scandalized _O_ before he managed to school his expression, shoving at Marvin with his toes. “Marvin telling a dirty joke,” he mused. “Never thought I’d see the day, really.”

Marvin dodged Whizzer’s well-placed kicks, laughing. “You walked right into that one.”

“I’ll say, I just never expected it from you.”

“I’m full of surprises, I’ll have you know.”

Whizzer tilted his head. “Oh, yeah?” he said softly. “I love surprises.” He stood and slowly made his way to where Marvin was sitting, carefully settling himself in his lap.His hips canted slightly, and Marvin’s cock jumped at the pressure. “Care to show me some more, _Mister Marvin?”_ He rolled the Rs, so the name sounded almost like a purr.

_Jesus._ Marvin hooked his thumbs into the waistband of Whizzer’s boxers tugging them lower against his hips. “I dunno,” he said, playing along. “How do you want it?”

“However you insist, birthday boy.” Whizzer grinned wolfishly. “I’m all yours.”

It was all Marvin had ever wanted to hear.

**

Marvin tracked the sun’s descent through the window, watching it make the slow downwards crawl to the line of the horizon, a ball of fire amidst the purple and pink sky.Neither of them had made a move to get up once they’d finished, just collapsed into each other on the couch and stayed there ever since.

Except… “It’s fucking cold in here,” Marvin muttered, trying to cuddle even closer to Whizzer, as if that were even possible.They were already pressed skin-to-skin.

Whizzer ran a hand through Marvin’s hair, pulling the loose strands off his forehead briefly before they fell back into place, a hazy curtain falling in front of his eyes.He’d been petting it for a while now. “Two words,” he said. “Air conditioning.Also, you’re sorta naked.”

Ah, right.Vaguely, he thought he should probably clean up a little; wipe off the couch, drag Whizzer into the shower with him to rinse away the sweat and come, else Marvin would never hear the end of how _goddamn sticky I am, Marvin._

But for now he was content to just lie there, head against his boyfriend’s chest, letting Whizzer muss up his hair with both his hands.The skin beneath Marvin’s ear vibrated softly as Whizzer hummed the tune to an unfamiliar song.Probably something he’d heard on the radio today.

“Well, happy birthday, grandpa,” he said after some time had gone by. 

Marvin whacked him in the arm. “Respect your elders,” he grumbled under his breath.Whizzer laughed, bright and clear, before cupping his face and pulling him in for a searing kiss.

He was always so good at that, making Marvin dizzy and breathless with a single kiss. “Oh, don’t worry too much,” Whizzer said. “I’ll still be around when you’re an old asshole who doesn’t trim his nose and ear hair and needs a bedpan and all that.”

“Thank you, Whizzer,” he said, keeping his voice as solemn as possible. “I appreciate it."

They lapsed into silence, laying in that strange twilight zone after the sun goes down but before the sky goes completely dark in its wake.Whatever light still crept in through the window made Whizzer’s shine a deep, burning orange, backlighting his hair til it glowed.

“You’re so pretty,” he found himself saying.He wouldn’t have been caught dead telling Whizzer this if in a similar situation two years ago.He liked how things had changed for the better.

Whizzer passed his fingers through Marvin’s hair yet again. “Why, thank you,” he said. “I do try.”

The silence stretched out from there, until the sun finally vanished behind another high-rise apartment building, casting the room into near-darkness.Whizzer stopped playing with his hair about the same time, hands instead settling around his shoulders, at the base of his neck.It was domestic in the way Marvin would’ve killed for years earlier.

“Happy birthday,” Whizzer said again, gentler this time.Sweeter, a smile touching his mouth.He was looking at Marvin like he was truly something special.Marvin knew he looked at Whizzer like that every day.It wasn’t often he saw his own feelings reflected back in Whizzer’s eyes.

The words were _right there,_ jammed in the back of his throat. _I love you_.He could say them right now, and mean them completely.Because he _did_ love Whizzer, so much it scared him a little.He sometimes looked at him and was almost overwhelmed by how much love his own heart was capable of holding.If you’d told his thirty-year-old self how he would feel right now, he would’ve laughed.

“God,” Whizzer said, breaking the silence.His face was slightly red. “You’re looking at me like such a sap.” Before Marvin could get a word out in self-defence, Whizzer leaned forward slightly, brushing a chaste kiss to Marvin’s forehead. “Don’t worry, I love you too.”

Something resembling a firework going off exploded in Marvin’s chest at the words.It was amazing, what a few simple words could do to him.What _Whizzer_ could do to him.The best part was he wasn’t even scared of it anymore.It just _was,_ and that was okay.

It was sort of sad, how long it took him to get here.A full thirty-six years, around half of his whole life.But there wasn’t really any use dwelling on that fact; it didn’t matter anymore.He’d do it again, anyway.This - the sweetness, the romance, the _love_ \- made everything worth it.

Whizzer would probably go into cardiac arrest if he heard the horribly sappy turn his thoughts had taken.Whatever, he’d have to get used to it.

They had time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr: swayinginphosphorescence


	6. portrait of a ghost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a dream, a visit, and a talk between friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> back to the present. sorry for this one guys, it's sort of a downer. hopefully enjoy nonetheless? :D   
> also there is a very brief mention of vomit early in the story, close to the first asterisks. just a heads-up if that bothers you.

Something Mendel often asked about in their sessions were dreams.According to Freud and Jung, apparently, dreams reflected your deepest wants and desires.He had this theory that if Marvin told him about his dreams they could identify what he really wanted out of his life. 

It was a bunch of bullshit because even if he did remember his dreams when he woke up, most of the time it was about stupid things like getting chased or falling from a cliff.

There could be some stock in that nonsense, though.For that night, after he falls asleep on the couch, absolutely smashed, he dreams of Whizzer.

Marvin’s in the same place he fell asleep, but there’s one major difference: sitting at the other end of the couch is fucking _Whizzer,_ Marvin’s feet close enough that if he extended his leg just a little, he could touch him.But he doesn’t move; he lies as still as possible, like moving even slightly will cause Whizzer to disappear again.

The first thing he really notices is that Whizzer is wearing the suit he was buried in, a Tom Ford three-piecer, dark blue.Whizzer had bought it for himself, and Marvin nearly had an aneurysm when he saw the credit card bill.But he’d looked good in it, so damn good that it was almost forgivable.

Marvin opens his mouth, planning on saying something - Whizzer’s name, perhaps - but all that comes out is a tiny, choked noise.His mouth feels as dry as the Sahara desert, and all of a sudden speaking is an impossible task.

Whizzer turns toward him, tilting his head as if to say, _What’s up?_ A piece of hair falls over his forehead, once again rich and dark and full.Not like how it was in the hospital, when it was thinning, oily and lank from weeks without showering. 

God, he looks so _healthy_.He’s actually got colour to his skin, and the dips under his eyes and the hollowness of his cheeks has filled out again.He sits straight-backed, strong body and pretty face, so pretty.He looks like something out of a magazine, something gorgeous that Marvin can’t afford.

Before he can stop himself, he nudges Whizzer with his toe.To prove he’s there more than anything.He’s solid.

“Whizzer,” Marvin says, raspy.

A pause. “Marvin.” And that’s his fucking voice.The voice that snarked and laughed and cussed and teased and _everything_ fucking familiar.

That’s as far as the conversation gets before it tapers into silence again.Marvin doesn’t know what to say, if he should even say anything at all.He knows, _knows,_ that this is a dream, that this version of Whizzer isn’t real and is a figment of his imagination, born partially of longing and regret, but mostly alcohol.But he looks so real, and just seeing him reminds Marvin of how much he fucking misses him.

Whizzer doesn’t say anything either, just keeps that same questioning look.He doesn’t even look like he’s breathing.But then again, does he even _need_ to breathe?Marvin supposes dream-born apparitions shouldn’t need air, but as of late Marvin’s been slowly discovering he doesn’t know much of anything.So who knows?

Dream Whizzer scoots down the couch a little until he’s sitting close enough that Marvin has to look up to see his face.After a moment, he reaches forward and brushes Marvin’s hair off his forehead, fingernails gently grazing his skin.Marvin shivers a little at the touch.It feels so real.

“You should go back to sleep,” he says in that horribly familiar voice. 

Marvin watches him through barely-open eyes. “Will you be here when I wake up?” It’s stupid and he knows it, but he can’t help it.

Dream Whizzer’s expression finally changes; he smiles.It’s the stupid half-smile he used to wear too much, the one that showed he wasn’t truly happy.But it’s still a smile, even if it doesn’t meet his eyes, and it’s such a Whizzer look that Marvin’s chest hurts.

“No.” His voice is apologetic, tinged with an underlying sadness. “I can’t.You know that.”

Of course he fucking knows that. _Knowing_ doesn’t stop the sting.He doesn’t - can’t - say anything to that.

When the dream ends, Whizzer will be gone.But in the meantime, he’s still here, and he’s still petting his hair a bit.The not-smile has shifted back into it’s previous blank expression, but his eyes are softer than before.Marvin relaxes under Whizzer’s touch, putting it to memory, and lets his eyes fall shut.

He wakes up some time later, and it’s the middle of the night, and he’s cold, and shaky and sweating.The first conscious thing he does is look to the foot of the couch, squinting past the oppressive darkness choking the living room.

There’s no one there. 

The second thing he does is get up and sprint to the bathroom to throw up.He’s not sure if it’s the hangover or a byproduct of the dream, the crushing weight that comes with missing Whizzer, resting like an anvil on his chest.Probably a combination of both, to be honest.

It was different when they were just broken up.Even though Marvin was kinda miserable even then, at least he knew Whizzer was out there, living it up in New York or wherever he was.Now he’s stone cold and rotting under six feet of dirt, and there’s no solace to be found in that.None at all.

Marvin doesn’t even know what kind of pain he’d prefer to feel anymore.Whether he’d rather be a miserable ex again, instead of a miserable widower.Both options suck ass.

He stares at the inside of the toilet bowl, breathing ragged, blind to the rancid smell or the frigidness of the bathroom tiles beneath his knees.There’s something running down his cheeks; he thinks he might be crying, tears slipping into the creases of his mouth.This is what rock bottom tastes like: salty.

After flushing the toilet, he brushes his teeth.All he can see in the bathroom mirror is his silhouette.Thank god for that.He can gather enough about his current appearance from the mess that is his hair, the defeated slump of his shoulders.He laughs mirthlessly around his toothbrush.

Marvin stumbles to his bed and falls asleep on top of the covers with the half-hope that he’ll see Dream Whizzer again, but his dreams consist of nothing but a black, swirling void.Mendel was right; dreams _do_ reflect your state of mind.

*

It’s almost nine, and Marvin woke up half an hour ago with the taste of shit coating his mouth and a throbbing in his head that felt like someone was repeatedly stabbing an icepick through his skull. 

He’s sitting on the couch in the living room, trying so hard to stomach a cup of coffee that he doesn’t even notice that Charlotte enters his home until she’s striding into the living room and stops directly in front of him, blocking his view of the blank television screen.

He doesn’t remember giving her a key to his place.Whizzer must’ve done it.That, or she broke in just now.He honestly wouldn’t put it past her.

“You don’t look so good,” she comments.As if he doesn’t know that.

Marvin wants her to go away.No matter how much he loves her, which he does, he’s not in the mood.He’s still shaken from the Whizzer dream and feels heavy and tired with the same general sadness he’s been plagued by for weeks.He wants to drink this coffee and put on bad TV and just fall back asleep.She’s throwing a gear in his brilliant plans.

He looks at her dully. “Shouldn’t you be with your girlfriend?” he asks, a shitty attempt at deflecting.

“She’s got a job to do,” Charlotte says, folding her arms across her chest. “And so do you, for that matter.”

“I called in.” Again.

The silence carries on until it’s uncomfortable, Charlotte standing before him as still and implacable as a statue in the MET.

Marvin swallows and looks away. “Come on, Charlotte,” he mutters. “I’m sure you’ve got better things to do than babysit me on your day off.”

“You’re damn right I do,” she snaps.Marvin blinks, surprised by her tone. “And I’m not here to be your babysitter.I’m here because you were an asshole last night and we deserve an explanation.”

Ah.So that’s why. “I don’t know what you want me to say.I was drunk and acted like an asshole, that’s it.”

“Not good enough,” Charlotte says.

Marvin sighs. “I didn’t mean -”

“Of course you fucking meant it.You don’t say things you don’t mean.You never have.”

Well, she’s right about that.She’s right about most of what she’s saying, actually.Still, he can’t help but feel angry on behalf of himself.It’s not like he was the only one in the wrong last night.

He mirrors her stance, folding his arms defensively across his chest. “Okay, sure, I said some shitty things,” he concedes. “But come on.You guys were the ones who invited me over for what you said was drinks and it turned out to be - what?A suicide intervention?”

Charlotte presses her lips together. “That wasn’t what we wanted,” she tells him. “We just wanted a get together, honestly.We hadn’t seen you in so long.” She pauses briefly before adding, “We were worried about you, sure, but we never thought…You just jumped to conclusions too fast.”

“Not like you said anything to make me _not_ think that way.”

“I know.” Her voice turns hard again. “Because you didn’t let us.You were too busy telling us to go fuck ourselves.”

Marvin rolls his eyes so far back in his head it makes him dizzy enough to nearly throw up again.Honestly, if they had really wanted to defend themselves, they could’ve interrupted him at any time during his spiel.It’s not that fucking complicated.

“You all need to give me a break,” he mutters. “You’d probably be acting the same if Cordelia died.Don’t fucking try this with me, Charlotte.” Okay, that might be out of line, and he kind of regrets it when her shoulders tense.

“Don’t compare me to you,” she snaps, and _fuck,_ that stings. “And don’t go trying to compare your pain to my hypothetical pain.Like you’re one to talk about being in _pain,_ anyway.”

That better not mean what he thinks it means.His eyes flash. “What are you-”

“Whizzer was better when he was fucking _dying_ than you’re being right now.”

It went there. “I can’t believe you just said that.”

“Am I wrong?”

“It doesn’t matter!You’re not just allowed to run your mouth about this,” he seethes, digging his nails into his palms until they hurt. “You can’t just come in here and tell me I think that my pain and _his_ pain while he was _dying_ are comparable!I know they’re not, I’m not fucking _evil.”_

He wants to hit something, the urge filling him so fiercely it’s nearly unbearable.Marvin’s not felt this way in a long time, and it scares him. “Of course I know Whizzer was better than me,” he grinds out from between clenched teeth. “He was _always_ fucking better than me, I _know_ that!Don’t you think I know that?”

It’s something he’s _always_ known.Whizzer was jaded and prickly, but at his centre was a good person with a good soul.Cut Marvin down to the core and all you find is a rotten heart, one whose poison threatens to infect everyone else.And it had, for a long time it had.

Whizzer had been in the process of dying for weeks, and he was nice and kind and good as he did it.Marvin got drunk once and spent a good while cussing out his only remaining friends for trying to help him.

So, yeah.He knows. 

Marvin stares at his hands in his lap, unable to muster any more energy to be pissed.The anger and adrenaline has fled his body, leaving numbness in its place.He can’t be mad, because she’s right.Although it was harsh, Charlotte is _right._

After a minute or so, she joins him on the couch, dropping down beside him with a heavy exhaustion that resembles his own. “I’m sorry for saying that,” she says wearily. “I went too far.”

Maybe she had.But it was something he needed to hear.

Marvin swallows, picking at the skin around his nails.It’s a habit he’s picked up from Whizzer. “It’s okay.You were right.”

She shakes her head furiously. “God, no, it’s fucking not.I should never have said that, I just -” Her voice cuts off abruptly, and she sighs. “I’m still sorry.I’m just - tired, I guess.It’s no excuse.We’re all just fucking tired.”

Marvin nods at that.

The silence stretches on.Marvin thinks she might be waiting for him to say something, but he’s not sure what.He thinks an apology may be in order _.A sorry for being a dick and a shut-in.I just don’t know what else to be right now._

“You know,” she starts suddenly. “It was actually me who was there the day his hair starting falling out.”

Marvin looks at her.He hadn’t known that.

She goes on. “He was talking to me and just…ran a hand through his hair in the way that he did and…he was holding some afterward.He looked so sad, I…” Charlotte looks at him suddenly, mouth twisting into an unhappy smile. “Y’know, I’ve learned a lot of shit working at that hospital.But you never really figure out how to help someone who looks that sad.” She sighs, shakes her head slightly. “I had no fucking idea what to do.”

Whizzer had told him about the hair thing later, when Marvin had questioned his new hospital-issued beanie. _It was bound to happen, it’s fine,_ he’d said stoically, as if Marvin was fucking blind to how devastated he really was.Even Whizzer’s masterful poker face couldn’t hide the look in his eyes.

“I remember that day,” he says. “It fucking sucked.”

“Yeah.” Charlotte’s laugh is brittle and sad. “It sure did.”

“A lot of it sucked.I hated seeing him like that.”

“Me too.”

A moment of understanding passes between them.Out of them all, Marvin thinks she’s the only one who can really feel close to the same way he does.As Whizzer’s doctor, she knows uselessness the same, intimate way he does.

He only realizes he’s speaking after he’s already started. “Listen, I’m sorry for how shitty I’ve been and how I’ve been so closed off and mean and all this whole time.And I’m sorry for all the bullshit I said last night.You guys don’t deserve it, I’m just -” His voice cuts off abruptly, and he curls his fingers around his knees to keep his hands from shaking. “I don’t know.I just miss him,” he finishes weakly. “And it’s not really an excuse.I just don’t know how to - stop acting like this.”

A couple long beats pass between them before Charlotte says, “I’m sorry, too.”

Marvin looks at her. “You don’t -”

“No, stop,” she interjects. “If you’re allowed to be sorry, so am I.I should have never brought up Whizzer like that, it was cruel.And it wasn’t right of us to have you over like that and expect the best out of you when we hadn’t even spoken to you in days.I’m sorry for that, too.”

This is becoming too uncomfortable - Marvin’s never dealt well with big displays of emotional vulnerability like this.He looks down at his feet.Both of his socks have holes in the toes.Whizzer would be appalled.

“Look at us,” he murmurs. “Apologizing to each other like grown-ups.”

“We’re very mature,” Charlotte agrees.

Marvin finds himself smiling a little, and suddenly he feels Charlotte wrapping her arms around his shoulders and tugging him into a hug.It feels so fucking good.He’s forgotten what comfort like this really feels like; it’s been too long since he’s actually let someone hug him.

“It’s okay to miss him,” she says quietly into his ear. “It’s okay to want to be _alone._ But don’t shut yourself away from us.I’ve seen what grief can do to people, if they let it consume them.” The grip she has on him tightens, and Marvin’s not sure if she’s even aware of it. “We’re here for you.Always.We’re just next door, Marvin, if you wanna talk.Or not talk, even, just hang out.”

There’s a low, pathetic whine cutting through the air, and it takes him a moment to realize he’s the one making it.He cuts the sound off as quickly as possible, but he’s not as ashamed as he might’ve been once upon a time.

He waits til he’s sure his voice won’t crack before saying, “Thanks.” And because he’s not said it for a while, he adds, “I love you guys.”

“We love you, too.”

There’s nothing to really say to that, so he doesn’t say anything at all, just melts into the hug.It’s not the same as Whizzer, it can’t be, but maybe…maybe it doesn’t need to be.It’s different, but it can be just as comforting if he lets it.

He pulls away after a period time that feels like it should’ve been enough, but wasn’t.His eyes, though still dry, burn. “You don’t have to stay,” he tells her. “I’m okay, really.”

“Cordelia’s not back for a few hours,” Charlotte says. “And I’ve got nowhere else to be.”

That makes Marvin feel like crying, almost more than anything else.He nods, leaning forward again to put his head on her shoulder and hopes she can’t feel the wetness pooling there. “Okay.”

Charlotte puts her arms around him again and Marvin responds in kind, holding onto her tight.

“There’s a Brady Bunch marathon running,” she says into his hair. “It’s been on since, like, seven this morning.Wanna watch?”

Marvin hates that fucking show. “Sure,” he says anyway, because he really could go for some mindless television right now.It’ll be a break from everything else.

They pull apart and settle into the couch, kicking up their feet on the coffee table as Charlotte grabs the remote and clicks over to the station playing the show.It’s about as stupid and bland as he remembers, but having Charlotte there to crack jokes and laugh at his criticisms make it a hell of a lot more bearable. 

It’s one of the best mornings he’s had in a long time. 

*

Eventually Charlotte has to leave - has to go home and help cook lunch, be with her girlfriend, do whatever else a busy lady like her needs to do.With a final hug and a kiss to the top of his head she’s gone and leaves Marvin sitting on the couch, staring at the TV as it plays maybe the fifth consecutive episode of the worst show ever made. 

He’ll vomit if he keeps watching this junk, so he switches it off and leans back into the couch.He sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose, the hangover-headache swinging back into full force with Charlotte’s absence.Somehow her presence had managed to scare it away, at least for a while.

Marvin’s earlier grand plan of going back to sleep doesn’t feel as appealing anymore.It’s almost twelve and it’s bright outside, but mostly it’s because Charlotte’s visit had managed to - albeit unintentionally - shed some light on how goddamn pathetic his current behaviour was.If there’s anything he absolutely loathes, it’s looking pathetic in front of other people.

He’s just so _tired,_ is the thing.More than a few nights’ worth of sleeplessness tired, but an awful, bone-deep exhaustion of more than just the body, something that feels like a thousand pounds constantly sitting on his shoulders.What else can he fucking _do_ but sleep?

Marvin hardly recognizes himself anymore.Distantly, he remembers a time when his neuroticism manifested in explosive outbursts, resembling an atomic bomb going off from the way it affected not only him but everyone unlucky enough to have been caught in the blast zone.Last night was the first night in ages he’d seen that side of himself again - nowadays, he’s quiet and sullen and hollow, lacking energy to even _be_ explosive in the first place.

Fuck, where did he _go?_

It’s not like he misses his old self - far from it.It’s just that it’s kind of shocking that such a massive part of who he used to be has seemingly vanished into thin air. _Angry_ and _explosive_ had been his defining features for _years -_ he thought he’d rid himself of that.Last night was a testament to the fact that; those traits hadn’t actually disappeared, but were lying dormant.Appearing once in a blue moon, as opposed to every day.

Whizzer, Marvin thinks, was the reason behind that change.Whizzer was the cause of practically _every_ major change in Marvin’s life from the day, the _minute_ they’d met in that disgusting bar bathroom.Along with everything else, it had been Whizzer who’d taken that nasty, jaded, rotten part of Marvin and transformed it into something better.When he died, it was as if he’d spent his last moments digging his fingers into Marvin’s chest and ripping that part out entirely, leaving something gaping and empty in it’s wake.A black hole, a void.

What a fucking morbid thought.Whizzer would sock him if he could hear him now.But that would call for Whizzer to be here in the first place, and well.That was the whole problem, wasn’t it?

Marvin stands up and walks away, effectively cutting off that train of thought.It’s not even noon, and he’s already reached his daily limit of “miserable over Whizzer” time.He knows that’s not exactly a healthy mindset to have, but repressing emotion is something he’s done all his life, and he doesn’t know how to just _stop_ doing something that’s been drilled into his brain since he was a kid.

Either way, he’s through with sitting around and lamenting, at least for now.So instead, he strides purposefully into the kitchen, grabbing the landline off the wall and phoning the place he used to live in for over ten years.

“Hello?” Trina says upon picking up.

“It’s Marvin.I was just, uh…” He hadn’t thought this far ahead.Fumbling, he managed to say, “Is Jason planning on coming over this weekend?”

Trina hesitates. “Do you want him to?"

He contemplates how to phrase what he wants to say.If he comes off as too desperate, Trina won’t send him, but she won’t if he sounds indifferent either. “It’ll be nice to see him,” is what he settles on eventually.

He can feel Trina’s apprehension through the line.She’s probably recalling his behaviour on Friday and is wondering if it would be best to send their thirteen-year-old to the home of his raging asshole father. “I guess I could ask him,” she says slowly. “I’ll tell you what he says.”

Marvin twists the phone cord around his finger. “Thanks,” he says. “And Trina…” This is gonna be a first for him, but he’s a big boy now. “I’m sorry.For last night.”

Her silence is more comfortable this time, not as rife with tension. “Thank you,” she says after a moment. “I appreciate that.” Then, “Just…How have you been?Feeling better?”

“Yeah.Better.” _Better_ is kind of a relative term, but she doesn’t need to know that.

“That’s good,” says Trina.She sounds like she’s smiling a little. “I’m happy.That’s really good.”

Trina doesn’t have to know the details of the morning, his talk with Charlotte, the Whizzer dream from last night, any of it.It’s not like he’d ever tell her.All she knows now is that he’s _doing better_ , and that’s fine.That’s whatever to Marvin.That’s how it needs to be.

They hang up shortly thereafter, Trina promising more genuinely that she’ll ask Jason once he gets home from school and call him later with his response. 

Marvin slips the phone back onto the receiver, and spends a brief minute leaning his forehead against the wall, letting the coolness of the tile seep into his skin and marginally soothe his screaming head.He’s honestly got nothing better to do; with Charlotte gone, work called out of, and his plan to sleep the day away off the table, he now has a whole afternoon to kill.Another afternoon to waste away locked in his empty, boring apartment.

Unless…

There’s one thing he could do, and it’s something he’s been meaning to do for a while.He’s just never had the nerve.To be honest, he’s not sure if he’s up to it even _now,_ but he’s been putting it off too long, now.

Marvin pushes himself off the wall and goes to the bathroom, rummaging around in the medicine cabinet until he finds the box of ibuprofen.He pops two pills before getting in the shower to strip himself of the alcohol stench.It’s not like he’s got anyone to impress by where he’s going, but he figures it’s at least common curtesy to not show up smelling like the inside of a bar.

He even contemplates shaving his beard, something he still hasn’t gotten around to doing, but eventually decides it can wait a little longer.He does study himself to make sure he doesn’t look _too_ feral, though.Can’t show up to the cemetery looking like a sewer rat.

Marvin owed Whizzer that much.He was overdue for a visit, after all.


	7. ordinary people

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> movie night with jason ends with a bucketload of insecurity followed by a revealing conversation. then a crappy day at work followed by something...else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ;)

Ever since Jason was old enough to understand what a bed-time _was,_ he’d had one.Even now, at the age of twelve, he still had one.It was an endless source of embarrassment since his friends had found out, but no matter how much he wheedled, Trina ruled the bed-time rule with a relentless iron fist.He was to be in bed by nine pm sharp, even on weekends.

Fortunately, she hadn’t yet received the memo that Marvin was coming up short on enforcing that rule.He’d never been the one to do it in the first place; how hypocritical it would’ve been of him, trying to impose bed-times when he was returning home in the middle of the night for less and less plausible reasons. 

Besides, Jason’s a resourceful and persuasive child, and his argument that _It’s a weekend and I can just sleep in tomorrow to compensate_ was compelling.Not to mention that he now easily took advantage of Whizzer’s indulging nature, and weakness for Jason’s puppy-dog eyes.

Resourceful.

It was well past eleven, and Marvin was less than concerned with the fact that Trina would kill him should she find out that a) Jason was up two hours past when he was supposed to be, and b) he was watching _The Towering Inferno._ He didn’t see the problem with showing Jason some blockbuster disaster flicks, even if they _were_ scary _._ Besides, Jason didn’t look the least bit afraid at the death and fire, just enthralled.So did Whizzer, even though he’d seen the movie twenty times already.They were both watching the screen with identical wide-eyed expressions.It was pretty endearing.

When the movie ended, Jason didn’t look like he’d been traumatized, more like he was about to fall asleep on the couch.Nonetheless, he managed to wrangle the last of his energy to shoot a look at Marvin and say, “It was a good movie, dad.I didn’t know you had taste.”

Marvin rolled his eyes, because _of course._ He didn’t even have to look at Jason to know he was smiling hopefully at Whizzer, adorably desperate for his approval, like a puppy.

“Nice one, kid,” Whizzer murmured appreciatively.Marvin tugged his arm out of Whizzer’s grasp, which had been locking his bicep in a vice grip for the whole film.As he went to eject the VCR, Whizzer went on, “Speaking of good taste, Saks is having a sale tomorrow.”

Despite what the name would suggest, a _sale_ only constituted an excuse for Whizzer to drain his bank account by throwing excessive amounts of money at anything that caught his eye.Marvin groaned internally and Jason said, “So what?”

“ _So_ I’ll be up early tomorrow.Since neither of you could be assed to care about fashion, I’ll be going by myself,” he muttered.Then he paused. “Unless, Jason, you wanna come along, find some really great back-to-school outfits.”

Before Jason could open his mouth, Marvin jumped in and said, “I’m not letting you buy my kid thousand-dollar shirts, Whizzer.”

“Hey, he’s practically _my_ kid, too,” he said, without hesitation.Marvin blinked.Whizzer turned to Jason, who didn’t look at all like he’d just heard Whizzer say anything bold or life-changing. “Don’t you wanna be the coolest guy in school?”

Jason eyed Whizzer skeptically, no doubt remembering the styles and colours Whizzer considered to be _cool_.They were undeniably fashionable, but too flashy and flamboyant to match Jason’s astute twelve-year-old tastes.Jason had taken after Marvin when it came to _style_ , if you could call it that, wearing his hoodies and jeans with pride.

“No thanks,” he said, to Marvin’s eternal relief. “Besides, school’s not for another two weeks.I don’t wanna think about it yet.”

“Get over it,” Whizzer said mildly. “You have ten more years of this hell.”

Jason headed off to bed a few minutes later, once he looked well-and-truly-like he was going to pass out on the floor.With a final _Night, dad, night, Whizzer,_ he slouched off down the hall, leaving the two men alone on the couch.

Whizzer drew his legs up and tucked his chin over one knee. “You sure you don’t wanna come tomorrow?” he asked. “I could find you some ties that aren’t an eyesore.”

Marvin shook his head, ignoring the dig about his ties. _What’s wrong with them, anyway?_ “I dunno why you think I’d be at all interested in a sale.”

“It’s a twenty percent off _clear-out_ sale,” Whizzer insisted, as if that meant something.He sighed at Marvin’s blank look. “You disappoint me, Marv.”

“Sorry,” he said, but his tone suggested he was anything but.

Whizzer put his gangly legs over Marvin’s lap and butt-scooted closer til he was practically in his lap. “Maybe it’s for the best,” he said, finally relenting. “You’d probably get arrested after stabbing some lady for a pair of shoes.”

“That’s happened before?”

“Yeah.Yuppie moms are feisty.” Whizzer grinned. “But I’ll have you know that I am too.”

“Oh, good.” Marvin wound one hand around Whizzer’s neck and pulled him closer to his face. “Now I don’t have to worry that you’ll die in a Macy’s boxing day stampede.”

Whizzer smirked, and _oh_ , one of his hands was drifting suggestively, dangerously lower.But before he could attempt anything _way_ too salacious for a household with a minor staying in it, Marvin was speaking again. “Did you mean what you said earlier?”

Whizzer’s hand paused.His brow furrowed with confusion. “What?”

“Y’know, when you…” All of a sudden, Marvin felt rather awkward asking.He bit the inside of his cheek and forced out, “When you said Jason was practically your kid.”

Whizzer’s face lit with recognition, but then he looked away.He looked almost embarrassed, flushed, in a way he didn’t usually. “I, um.” He bit his thumbnail, considering. “It was mostly a joke,” he eventually said. “But like.Not totally, y’know?” Marvin nodded.Whizzer bit his lip. “If you mind, I’ll stop.Like, I won’t do it again.”

Why Whizzer was acting like Marvin would be upset, he couldn’t fathom.Whizzer had basically just confirmed the thing he’d wanted since they’d _met_ : absolute commitment.An out-loud admission of pseudo-fatherhood was about as good as it got.

In a way, though, he understood.If Whizzer had said he saw Jason as something of his own kid a couple years ago, he would’ve completely lost it.He was insecure enough about relationship with Jason as it was, was never able to shake the idea that, out of the three father figures in his life, Marvin was the worst and least wanted of them all.Even now, it sometimes hit him.At night, mostly, when his brain wouldn’t shut up and consistently tormented him with the same thoughts, on repeat, keeping him awake for hours.

_Am I a good dad?A good person,_ _even?_

_Am I better than_ my _dad?_

Oh, no.He wasn’t about to think about _that_ right now.Not now.Not when Whizzer was still looking at him, faced tinged with uncertainty, expecting a response.

“No,” Marvin said, and it was the truth.He placed his hand carefully on Whizzer’s shoulder, so that it was cupping the side of his neck.Whizzer leaned into the touch immediately, as if on instinct. “I like it.”

Whizzer smiled at him.Something very small, but real.Sincere.One of the precious few genuine smiles he was ever allowed to see. “Okay, good.”

**

Marvin couldn’t sleep. 

It had been an hour and a half since they’d gotten into bed, since he’d spooned up behind Whizzer and said goodnight, since Whizzer had fallen asleep.And yet Marvin couldn’t do the same.The same question had been floating in his head since he’d first thought of it; _Am I a better person than my dad was?_

His relationship with his parents, or lack thereof at this point - was something he hadn’t thought about in a long time.Years, probably.It was especially frustrating, because he couldn’t seem to wrap his head around _why now?_ Why now was he thinking about this, trying to analyze his relationships, _now,_ instead of, well, two years ago?If his guilty conscience had to claw at him, couldn’t it have been when he was _actually_ being a shitty person.

_How much have you_ really _changed, though?_

Marvin let out a rattling breath at the thought, shifting slightly, adjusting his position.

Marvin didn’t know why he was thinking about this so much.He’d stopped caring years ago.Or, well, maybe not so much stopped caring as forced himself to stop caring.He’d repressed the need to care (along with repressing many other things).That fit.But either way, he was over it - supposedly - and there was no reason to be so hung up on this again.

He was past this.He should’ve been past this.

“What’re you thinking about?”

Whizzer’s voice knocked him out of his reverie.Marvin blinked, tightened his arm around Whizzer’s waist and said, “What?”

“You’ve not stopped fidgeting for, like, an hour,” Whizzer said wryly, voice croaky from sleep. “You only do that when you’re stressed about something.So.What’s up?”

How weird was it, that someone knew him so well they could tell his mood by how much he was moving at night?Though, maybe _weird_ wasn’t the right word. _New,_ that was better. _Different.Nice._

“Well?” said Whizzer.

Marvin swallowed. “I, uh -” He cut himself off, let out a short breath. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s clearly not.” Whizzer sounded a little more awake now, something like _concern_ colouring his tone. “What’s up?”

Well, now that he had gone and made Whizzer _concerned,_ lord knew Whizzer wasn’t gonna leave it alone now.No turning back. “I just -” Another pause.He twisted his mouth, weighing the words on his tongue. “Have I ever told you about my parents?”

Whizzer tensed marginally.It was only because they were pressed together Marvin could sense the difference. “No,” he confirmed. “Why?”

Marvin _hmm_ ’d in his throat. “It’s nothing, really.Just thinking.”

A beat passed between them before Whizzer abruptly flipped over, face suddenly close enough to Marvin’s that their noses brushed. “Wanna talk about it?”

Now _that_ was a question.He’d never talked about his parents with, well, _anyone_ before, save perhaps Mendel.And even then it was never in depth, never said anything more than was absolutely necessary.He didn’t know where to start.

But Whizzer was looking at him, and though the darkness hid his expression, only showing the shadowy outline of his features, it gave Marvin enough confidence that he thought he might be able to try.

“There’s not much to really say,” was how he began. “It’s not like they were bad parents, per-say.Like, they weren’t abusive.”

God, this was hard.He felt small, and like he was only shrinking faster with every passing second.

Whizzer continued to watch him, silent.

“But it wasn’t…we were never close.” That was a fucking understatement. “Our family was never big on…on talking it out or…talking at all, really.We never went to each other when we were feeling something.There was never that level of trust.” He paused. “And, I mean, it kind of rubbed off on me.” He smiled mirthlessly. “If you couldn’t tell.”

Whizzer didn’t seem to appreciate his bout of self-depreciation, because he didn’t laugh.He just tangled the fingers of one hand together with Marvin’s and simply said, “Go on.”

Marvin swallowed. _What the hell else am I supposed to say?_ “I, um -” His voice faltered for no discernible reason. “We didn’t really do…affection, I guess.Even as a kid there were never any hugs or anything like that.” His throat tightened as a memory suddenly resurfaced. “They forgot my birthday.When I was fourteen,” he said. “I threw a damn fit.The only person who cared was the maid.”

It was almost funny, but he wasn’t laughing, and neither was Whizzer. “They’ve both been dead for years,” he added. “Way before we met.And it’s weird -” Yeah, that was a good word for it.Weird. “ - but when they died, I was still sad.We’d never been close and I hadn’t seen either of them since I hadn’t graduated college, but -”

He couldn’t seem to finish.Whizzer took over and slowly said, “You still loved them.”

Marvin nodded. “It’s fucking ridiculous.I mean, looking back on it, I know they weren’t…the best, and for some reason, I still loved them.And I still do, kind of.”

Whizzer nodded thoughtfully.It felt like he was going to say something but was trying to figure out the words.

“I don’t think it’s ridiculous,” he said eventually, after a period of silence that was long, but never uncomfortable. “I mean, I know how shitty parents can be.It’s weird how they can be the biggest assholes they want to be and treat their kids like dirt and yet…they still expect to be loved in return.” He shrugged one shoulder. “And we give it.We want their love and approval no matter what they do.”

Marvin thought of Whizzer’s walls, his hard, jaded exterior, the fact that he guarded his past with everything in him.He’d never mentioned his parents or his family.Had always seemed so disconnected with anything relating to himself before the age of twenty.

He didn’t know what to say other than, “You too, huh?”

Whizzer shrugged again. “Yeah, but…” He sighed. “It was a long time ago.Besides, we’re not talking about me right now.”

“I’m still sorry.”

“Yeah, well.” Whizzer squeezed his hand. “So am I.For both of us.”

Marvin stared at their hands, Whizzer’s larger but younger fingers laced together with his own.They looked so natural, so right.

“You know, for the longest time, I was terrified I was gonna become my dad,” he said, almost whispering.This time he didn’t even look at Whizzer.He couldn’t. “And I tried not to be so hard, but once I realized I was gay -” He said the word so quietly it was barely audible. “I kind of thought…there wasn’t really a point.So I stopped trying, I guess.” His shoulders lifted in a helpless shrug. “And obviously, I fucked everything up so bad.”

He didn’t know why, but he forced himself to look up into Whizzer’s eyes.They stood out from the rest of his face, glinting with whatever light fell in from outside.They were dark and comforting.Marvin could just fall into them. “I treated you and Trina like shit and fucked things up _entirely_ with Jason and…and I’m trying to fix things, sure, but I’m not sure it’s enough.”

“It’s enough,” Whizzer said suddenly, and Marvin was surprised by the certainty in his voice.

Marvin shook his head. “It’s not.”

“If you’re trying, it’s enough,” he repeated, insistently.

Marvin smiled at him, but not in a way that showed he was happy about anything at all. “It can’t be that simple.”

“Why not?” Whizzer abruptly pushed himself onto his elbows, hair falling in his bright eyes. “Marvin, from what you’ve been saying this whole time, you’re _nothing_ like your father.Sure, you messed up for a while, but that was ’cause you were lost and confused, and really had no one to talk to about it.” He brushed his hair from his face, alight with a fiery conviction. “And ever since, you’ve been trying to fix it all.You’re a better person because you _tried_ to be one.You’re trying.”

Marvin listened to him, heart in his throat. “I don’t get it,” he said hoarsely. “What does that mean?”

Whizzer looked at him. “It means it’s enough.”

Huh.Maybe it really was that simple.

He was silent for long enough that Whizzer then tapped his arm and said, “Turn over, huh?You can be little spoon.”

Marvin flipped to his other side, grateful for Whizzer’s intuition and grateful for Whizzer’s understanding and grateful for Whizzer, full stop.He feels him slip up behind him, tucking his chin into Marvin’s hair, their bodies slotting comfortably together.

“Thanks,” he said.

“No problem,” Whizzer hummed. “It’s what I’m here for.”

Two years ago, nothing even _resembling_ that would’ve left Whizzer’s mouth.Back when he was still Whizzer “I Commit to Nothing and Nobody” Brown. Would he have even listened at _all,_ back then?Would he have even asked?Or would he have shoved it under the rug with a shrug and a sneer and a _shouldering your emotional baggage wasn’t what I signed up for_?

There really was no use in thinking about that, now.The Whizzer from then had changed, metamorphisized into something better.So had _Marvin,_ as Whizzer had so kindly put it.

_There’s no use in fixating on the past when the future’s still in front of you_.The only good piece of advice Mendel had ever given him. 

Whizzer’s past self belonged there, in the past, as did Marvin’s.And his parents, too.Maybe it was time to let it all go - not forget, but let it take a back seat for once.Not rule and dictate all his thoughts and actions.

He’d think about it in the morning.For now, he shut his eyes, leaning into Whizzer’s warm presence, and went to sleep.

**

Whizzer had work more often in the summer - _wearing shorts and bikinis reminds people of how fat they really are_ , as he had so kindly put it - so he often returned home later in the day than Marvin, training clients at the gym for hours. 

At one time, he would’ve thrown a fit at Whizzer’s tardiness, would’ve assumed the reason was due to the abundance of hot, sweaty guys and a certain locker-room shower.Nowadays, he hardly batted an eye when Whizzer tells him he’d be late.He _trusted_ Whizzer.What a feeling, trust.

It was nearly seven when Whizzer finally managed to drag himself in, making his presence known with a long, tortured groan as he slouched through the door.His hair fell around his face in dark, damp clumps.Weird, he hadn’t even bothered to style it after his shower.

“Long day?” Marvin guessed, smiling somewhat sympathetically.

Whizzer groaned again. “God, you know it,” he muttered. “These fucking clients are driving me nuts.I fucking _tell_ them, _Steve, if you wanna lose body fat you have to cut back on the fucking carbs_ , and they don’t listen!And then get mad at _me_.” He crossed the room, toeing off his shoes as he went, launching himself onto the couch. “Like, if you don’t wanna listen to my advice, don’t hire me, maybe.” Marvin settled a hand over Whizzer’s shoulders as he flopped down beside him, putting his head in Marvin’s lap. “I’m gonna lose it.Help me.”

“Help you?” Marvin smirked, one hand already slowly slipping down Whizzer’s back.He hooked a finger into one of Whizzer’s belt loops. “I know a way I could -”

“Sorry, Marv, not right now,” Whizzer said, cutting him off.He turned his head to look up at him, mouth quirked into a smile. “I appreciate the spirit, really, but I’m fucking wiped.”

Marvin frowned. “Well, okay,” he relented, and reluctantly pulled his hand away.It wasn’t like him to be so tired, unenergized, even when clients were being stubborn dicks - it wasn’t as if crappy clients were a new thing; Whizzer complained about it all the time.And even then, a round of you-made-it-through-another-day sex was a surefire way to cheer him up. 

“You feeling okay?” Marvin tried.

Whizzer flinched, so impercepctively that Marvin almost didn’t notice. “Yeah,” he said, nonchalance too forced to be natural. “Why wouldn’t I be?” At Marvin’s doubtful look, he sighed again. “Relax, okay? It’s just shitty clients, nothing new.”

_Exactly,_ Marvin thought.But whatever, he’d let it go.For now. “Okay.” Knowing how defensive Whizzer was, pressing the topic would only amount in a fight, and Marvin wasn’t in the mood for starting one of those right now.

Seemingly satisfied, Whizzer made a content noise and snuggled closer. “Okay, now that that’s settled, I’m taking a nap,” he said. “Wake me up in whenever you want dinner, okay?It’s my turn to cook.”

Marvin couldn’t remember the last time Whizzer needed a _nap_ , if he’d ever needed one before.He opened his mouth, planning to say something, but Whizzer’s eyes were already fluttering shut.He looked too comfortable and peaceful and, frankly, _tired_ to disturb right now.Marvin settled back into the couch and lowered the TV volume, resolving to just ask later.

He also ignored Whizzer’s instruction to wake him up, instead allowing him to get as much sleep as he needed.If he really was as tired as he seemed, waking him up was a bad idea, unless Marvin really _wanted_ to throw Whizzer into a shitty mood.It was a better, _safer_ idea to just wait until he woke up on his own.

It wasn’t until a few hours later that Whizzer finally began to stir.He was always a twitchy, noisy sleeper, but those twitches and noises were always amplified when he was on the verge of waking up.He shifted slightly, and Marvin watched as his brow furrowed and his mouth turned down in a little frown.

Marvin sighed, touching Whizzer’s shoulder gently, hoping to speed this process along.He’d lost all feeling in his legs a while ago, and he was hoping Whizzer would get off them before all blood flow was cut off and he needed to get them amputated.

Whizzer just shifted again, eyelashes fluttering.His face contorted in something resembling discomfort.

Marvin frowned, leaning over him slightly. “Are you o -”

Without warning, Whizzer suddenly jerked up and pushed himself off the couch before tearing out of the room.

Marvin felt his heart sink before he even heard it; retching. _Shit._ He stood and slowly made his way down the hall, leaning his head into the bathroom to see Whizzer bent over the toilet, clutching the bowl with white knuckles.Marvin carefully knelt beside him, putting a hand on the back of his neck, thumb rubbing gentle circles into his clammy skin.

“Hey,” he said, brushing sweaty hair back from Whizzer’s forehead.Whizzer didn’t respond, too busy regaining his breath to talk, eyes distant and glassy. “Whizzer,” he tried again, gently tugging at his arm. “Baby, what can I do?”

Whizzer swallowed thickly. “Water,” he croaked. “Please.”

Marvin nodded, and with a squeeze to his shoulder he was out the door and heading for the kitchen.He grabbed a glass from the cupboard and waited for the water to run cold from the tap.So Whizzer _was_ sick.In a way, it was relieving to know what it was that was affecting him.He was just sick, with the flu, at worst.Marvin could handle this.

The self-assuredness pretty much vanished instantly upon returning to the bathroom, when he walked in and found Whizzer lying face-down on the floor by the toilet and his stomach plummeted so fast he felt dizzy.

“Whizzer?” he squeaked, panic making his voice sound an octave higher than normal.

At the sound of his name, Whizzer - who was evidently _not_ unconscious - turned his head to look up at him.He must have seen the terror in Marvin’s face, because he grinned tiredly and said, “Oh, sorry.The floor’s cold.Felt nice, that’s all.”

Marvin sighed loudly, relief momentarily robbing him of words.It was quickly replaced by irritation and he handed Whizzer the glass of water with a half-hearted, “Idiot.You scared me.”

“Sorry,” Whizzer said sheepishly, pushing himself up.As he accepted the water and took a grateful sip, Marvin took a second to press the backs of his fingers to Whizzer’s forehead.

“You have a fever, kid,” he said, frowning. “Jesus, why didn’t you _tell_ me?”

Whizzer took another sip of water. “Thought I was just tired,” he said. “I didn’t think it meant anything.”

Marvin shuffled through the items in the medicine cabinet until he found the ibuprofen.The label on the box said _Fever reliever._ Perfect.He took a pill out of its foil wrapper and handed it over to Whizzer, who swallowed it without complaint.

They stayed until Whizzer was finished with his water, and was convinced he was _A hundred percent fine, probably ate something weird, just tired, I’m fine._ Even still, he refused to leave the room until he had brushed his teeth ten times, scrubbing his tongue hard enough that he probably removed all his taste buds. 

Whizzer blacked out practically the second after his head touched the pillow, still fully dressed, mouth wide open and drooling.Marvin smirked; Whizzer would be caught dead before he looked like this in front of anyone else.He tucked the blanket up to Whizzer’s chin.

He stayed with Whizzer until he realized he’d forgotten to actually _eat_ , and between that and the adrenaline rush from half an hour ago, he was _starving._

Slipping off the bed, Marvin ran a distracted hand through Whizzer’s hair.And paused. 

He looked back, mouth turning down slightly as he touched Whizzer’s forehead again.It was hot; still burning.One thermometer reading later, and Whizzer’s temperature was staring Marvin in the face: 103.6º.

Jesus, he’d taken that ibuprofen, hadn’t he?

Weird.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> all ur comments n kudos give me inspiration!!! i love u all <3  
> tumblr: swayinginphosphorescence


	8. blank canvas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> marvin pays whizzer a visit. then pays a visit to two ladies next door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the delay with uploading this chapter!! i was on vacation. anyway, enjoy!

It’s been weeks, and Marvin’s not visited Whizzer one time since the funeral.  Not that it hasn’t crossed his mind, of course, or that he hasn’t wanted to.  It’s more for the fact that he’s barely been able to dress himself and shower most days, so driving for half an hour across the city to the cemetery seemed completely off the table.  Until now.

On the way over, Marvin pulls over by a grocery store and dashes inside to pick up some flowers.Roses.It wasn’t traditional, of course, but at this point he didn’t care.Whizzer liked roses, Marvin never gave him roses, he owed him roses.So he would fucking get them.

He walks the path of the graveyard, kicking at the gravel of the path, until he has to cut over the grass to get to Whizzer’s family plot.Full of dead grandparents and great-grandparents and Whizzer, at least fifty years younger than the rest of them.Marvin approaches the grave and stands over it a moment, the toes of his shoes barely touching the edges of the plot.

“Brought you something,” he says, and lowers himself onto the soil, uncaring if it dirtied his trousers.He placed the roses - only three, pink - in front of the stone. “I _do_ sometimes listen when you tell me stuff.”

There’s no response, because, well, of course there isn’t.He reads the inscription on the stone, the one he himself had written out to be used.

 _Whizzer Brown_  
February 24, 1952  
October 14, 1981

It’s boring and basic, not even a descriptive sentence, but it’s all he could think to write.Whizzer was worth more than the words on his tombstone, anyway.His life was too big and impactful to capture its essence in a single sentence.

It’s weird.Before all… _this,_ the thought of Whizzer dying hadn’t even crossed Marvin’s mind.Of course, he knew it had to happen eventually, but it was nearly impossible to imagine Whizzer dead because he was constantly so _alive._ He was fun and energetic and hotheaded and passionate and just so full of life, a fire burning at his core.The thought of it simply going out was preposterous.

When Whizzer got sick it didn’t just take his life, or his looks, it took his spirit too.And that was maybe the worst of it, being able to _see_ the light leave his eyes, the flame within him flickering weakly until it collapsed into ash and smoke.It was unbefitting of someone like him, to die so quiet and so sad.

Marvin blinks hard, blinks against the stinging in his eyes.He hates thinking about Whizzer like that, in his final days, when it was clear to just about anyone that he was hanging on just out of obligation alone.His thoughts had been practically audible; _Just the bar mitzvah.Make it to the bar mitzvah, then I’m done._

“Roses are fucking expensive, you know,” he blurts, too suddenly, voice loud in the quiet of the graveyard. “No wonder you always wanted them.”

Marvin hangs his head a bit, feeling the same familiar guilt swell inside him.He figures he shouldn’t be so mean to a dead person. “Sorry,” he says after a moment.Like it means anything at all.

Movement in the corner of his vision catches his eye, and he turns his head curiously in its direction.An old woman, probably in her eighties, walks slowly over the grass, bouquet of flowers in hand.As Marvin watches, she stops in front of a smooth granite headstone.

He wonders who it could be that she’s visiting.A husband, probably.She looks old enough for that to be the most likely option.

An ugly, painful feeling creeps into his chest, wrapping around his heart, and it takes him a moment to identify it for what it is: _jealousy._ It seems fucking ridiculous, and probably is, but right now it feels like the most logical thing in the world.If this woman is indeed visiting her husband, and she’s indeed in her eighties, they must have been married for a long time.Fifty years or more.

If six-and-a-half months with Whizzer had felt like a dream, what would fifty years have been?

The woman stoops down to gently place the flowers in front of the stone, and Marvin has to tear his eyes away before he screams.Great, he’s been one-upped there too.His three measly roses seem sad by comparison to the entire fucking _bouquet._ Whizzer deserved a whole bouquet, more than twenty-nine years, a whole load of shit he never got. 

Marvin massages his eyes with his knuckles, a mirthless laugh bubbling out of his throat.Look at him, jealous of an old widow he doesn’t even know.Isn’t that pathetic?It’s so pathetic. 

Marvin’s pathetic as hell, but he supposes it’s something he’s always known.

 _“_ What the fuck am I doing, Whizzer?” he asks to the empty air.Whizzer doesn’t answer, naturally, because he’s dead, but maybe the silence is the answer he needs.

 _Nothing._ You’re doing nothing.

Another glance over his shoulder catches the woman as she kisses the top of the gravestone and begins to make her way back toward the path.Marvin turns back to his own and considers doing the same.He doesn’t see the point.It’s not as if Whizzer could feel it, anyway.

Instead, he runs his fingers over the epitaph, taking his time tracing the outlines of each letter.Then he stands up and walks away, shoes crunching over frost and dead leaves.Winter’s almost here.

*

A few days later he stops by the lesbians’, for the first time since their disastrous little get-together.He doesn’t really know what compels him to go over _today,_ given that he’s been perfectly content alone in his apartment for weeks, but ever since Charlotte’s visit, whenever he’s by himself he feels lonely with nothing but his thoughts and Whizzer’s ghost to keep him company.

The two of them are home, which is a shock in of itself, given that it’s a Wednesday afternoon and their notoriously chaotic work schedules.Marvin peers into the kitchen to see them both flitting around, laughing and talking, aprons tied around their waists.Cooking something together.

Ah, shit, he doesn’t want to interrupt their quality time.He’s about to duck out without making his presence known, but unfortunately Cordelia chooses that exact moment to turn around and lock eyes with him.Her face brightens and she grins sunnily at him.

“Marvin, hi!” She sounds decently happy to see him, and it’s a welcome relief from the pity and/or exasperation he’s become accustomed to. “Whatcha doing here?”

“Oh, was just coming back from work, thought I’d stop by.” The lie about going to work - _ha!_ Imagine - falls from his lips so easily he doesn’t even realize it at first.He steps into the kitchen.It feels homey in here.He’s missed feeling like this.It’s been too long since his own place has felt this way. “Sorry to interrupt, though.”

Charlotte shakes her head. “You’re not really interrupting anything.Besides, it’s good to see you.”

He nods at her, even scrounges up something like a smile.Out of all the shit that’s happened these past few weeks, wasting away an afternoon watching the Brady Bunch with Charlotte certainly hasn’t been the worst of his new memories.

They’re making a cherry pie, apparently.Or rather, _Cordelia_ is, and Charlotte is adoringly watching from the sidelines and occasionally passing her something she needs.It’d be really sweet, if he weren’t so goddamn jealous.He digs his nails into his palm and tries to beat back that rising feeling with a stick.Now is _really_ not the time to go snapping at them and being an asshole for no reason.The last time he did that was only five _days_ ago.He’s better than this.

The pie goes in the oven to bake soon after, and they spend the next half hour at the table, talking.About casual, neutral topics, nothing heavy, and it’s _nice._ It’s been so long since he’s had a normal, human conversation, one that didn’t end with him wanting to cry or punch a wall.

Although, right after they remove the pie from the oven, Cordelia realizes they are disastrously out of french vanilla ice cream (a travesty, apparently).Charlotte, fulfilling her girlfriend duty, grabs her coat and with a quick kiss to Cordelia’s forehead dashes out to the store to replenish their supply.

Marvin thinks it’s about time for him to go too.It’s not that he’s overstayed his welcome - he and Whizzer used to hang around here for _hours_ \- but the energy he has to force into a conversation, even with his best friends, is so draining that he can’t manage to do it for long. 

“I should go now,” he says. “Got work stuff, need to catch up.”

It’s obvious Cordelia doesn’t believe him, but she nods anyway. “Sure.Come by soon.”

Marvin has just taken a step towards the doorway when her voice calls out after him. “Marv, wait.” He pauses. “Don’t you want a piece?”

He turns his head to see her gesturing at the pie, which is probably not even close enough to cool to slice it.Marvin twists his mouth.What he _wants_ is to leave, but Cordelia’s using her puppy eyes.He’s not Charlotte, and Cordelia _definitely_ isn’t Whizzer, but he finds himself saying, “Sure,” nonetheless.

As she pulls a knife from the wooden block, she says, “You know, you’re not really as subtle as you like to think.” Marvin narrows her eyes, confused, and waits for her to elaborate. “You’re not forced to come here, you know.”

Marvin frowns. “What makes you think I _don’t_ want to be here?”

Cordelia looks up from where she’s cutting the pie into eighths, giving him an unimpressed stare. “You’ve been clenching your fists for half an hour.And glaring.”

Marvin deflates slightly. “I didn’t mean to.”

“I know.” She puts the piece on a plate and reaches into the cupboard over the stove for the plastic wrap. “And like, to be honest, no one blames you.For being pissed.”

Marvin cocks his head.This is new, someone saying he’s justified in how he’s feeling.The truth is, though, he’s never considered himself to really be pissed at _them_ , the others, but at the situation as a whole.It’s just that people are easier to shout at than a disease, or god.But he can’t exactly fault them for thinking he hates them, after that whole show last week.

“I’m not, really,” he says slowly, trying to voice those thoughts as best he can. “Not at you, anyway.”

“Yeah, we figured.” At his curious look, Cordelia adds, “After Charlotte came home on Saturday, we talked for a little.About everything.There was more booze.And tears.”

She smirks in a self-deprecatory way, and something in Marvin’s chest twists.He doesn’t know why, but hearing about someone else’s mourning process makes him feel slightly uncomfortable.Just knowing someone else might feel just a smidgen of what he does.

Cordelia glances at him when he doesn’t reply. “You can’t blame us for grieving, Marvin,” she says, and it’s almost scary, how she can read his thoughts. “He was our friend, too.We miss him.”

Marvin doesn’t know what he’s meant to say to that.Is he supposed to agree?Apologize for something?It’s not like he doesn’t understand they were friends, he’d be an idiot to not notice how Whizzer’s death had affected them _all,_ but it can’t be the same for them as it is for him.It _can’t._

“That’s not -” He pauses.What right does he have, to act like their feelings are invalid? “He was my boyfriend,” he settles on, and somehow it feels wrong.The word _boyfriend_ is too small, too insignificant to capture the whole depth of what Whizzer really meant to him, what his _death_ has done to him.

He must be showing something like that in his face, because Cordelia is quick to say, “I know we can’t understand what you’re feeling, not completely.” She turns away to fumble with the box of plastic wrap, pulling out a sheet and tearing along the small metal teeth embedded in the cardboard. “But me and Charlotte, when we talk about it, we’re able to grieve _together,_ and somehow that helps a bit more than if we were doing it alone.And it’s like…I don’t know, you don’t really give yourself that option.” It’s not stated like an attack, and clearly it’s not meant to be, but Marvin crosses his arms defensively anyway.

“Are you suggesting counselling?” he asks flatly.It’s been suggested to him, but he’s downright refused to think about it.He’s had more than enough therapy in his life, thank you very much.

“Maybe.If it helps.” She sticks a couple of toothpicks into the top of the pie before placing the plastic wrap on top of it.When she passes him the plate, it’s already warm.She studies him a moment longer, and Marvin twitches a little under the scrutiny.

“That was why we wanted to meet up on Friday,” she eventually says. “Not to act like you were…a mental case or unable to care for yourself or anything, just…” She pauses, running her tongue over her teeth as she searches for the correct words.Marvin waits, rapt. “Just to show that we’re here for you.You can take that however you want,” she adds. “If you don’t need us, that’s okay, too.Just don’t think we don’t want you around.We’re here if you want us, you know?”

It’s similar to what Charlotte told him earlier in the week, and Marvin wonders what he did to deserve two of the sweetest, most genuine people as his neighbours. 

But even still, he doesn’t think they can fully understand where he’s coming from.It’s not that he has a hard time being around or talking about emotion in front of people in _this_ particular situation; it’s been something he’s done his whole life.Holing himself away and _dealing with it himself_ has been his go-to method of comfort since he was a kid.It’s a reason he grew up to be so emotionally stunted. 

Now this is arguably the most impactful event of his _life,_ and it’s like his mind is playing tug-of-war against him.One side, his conservative side, is yanking him back toward his apartment nest, where he can sleep and sleep until the day it _finally_ hurts less, if that ever comes.And the other is wondering how it would feel, to talk with other people.To - god forbid - _cry_ with them. 

How bad could it be?

“Yeah,” he tells Cordelia, because even if he doesn’t accept it, the offer means a lot on its own. “Thanks.”

She smiles at him a little, before sending him off with the cut of the pie and a quick, assuring hug.The minute he’s back in his apartment he drops down hard into a chair at the kitchen table and puts his head in his hands.He digs the heels of his hands into his eyes, against the sudden wetness he finds there.Forget showing emotion in front of other people; he can’t stand showing it when he’s _alone._

Every time he represses the urge to cry, scream, or punch something, he feels the pressure inside him build just a little more.If he keeps this up, he’ll have a complete meltdown one of these days.But even with that ominous threat, it doesn’t stop him from doing it.He can’t help but feel he’s digging his own grave, though.

Marvin lowers his hands.The danger of crying has passed, but the exhaustion remains, as always.He’s beginning to accept that it’s a part of him.

Cordelia’s words are replaying in his mind, over and over.About grieving, about _healing_ together. Kind of like group therapy.It’s not a terrible concept, but still, the idea of talking and crying and reminiscing with his neighbours and ex-wife and son and - Jesus Christ - _Mendel_ is not exactly an appealing picture.

He’s still, in a way, reeling from the idea that they _are_ grieving.That he’s not the only one who feels like utter shit.It’s a funny thing, that it’s sometimes easy to forget that he’s only one of several people who loved Whizzer.He was his boyfriend, and is the one who most intimately misses him.But not the only one who does.

The bar mitzvah pictures are proof of that.Marvin stands and walks to the counter, where the folder remains where he’d left it, to rifle through them.All seven members of their little family are there, save Trina, but it just goes to show how many people were _there._ Who cared.Who loved him too.

Marvin hesitates on the group shot.It’s the six of them, Trina behind the camera, crammed around the hospital bed.All touching in some way, smiling a little, looking frazzled and tired and anxious and dysfunctional, and somehow, like a family.

After a moment of deliberation, he pins it to the fridge with a magnet.Then he carries the rest to his room and puts them in his drawer, making sure the one of him and Whizzer sits at the top of the pile.

Then he goes back to the kitchen and eats the pie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i changed my tumblr url and i (regretfully) inform you that i'm now bussywhizzer.tumblr.com


	9. trivial facts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> faced with a crisis that's only going to get worse as time passes, marvin deals with the latest of life's calamities the way he usually does: not well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so here we are. the last chapter in the past. this fic is coming to a close, guys! AAAAA

The last time he’d smoked, he was mid-way through his second year of law school, on the cusp of being a husband.On the cusp of being a _father._ The wedding was the next day, the one his mother and Trina’s father had planned rapidly and meticulously so that it would align with a day before the bride-to-be started properly showing.No one would know it was shotgun, and both families would maintain their dignity.

Marvin wasn’t an addict - he could count the times he’d smoked before on his fingers - but even still, he had made a promise then and there that he was quitting for good.He may have fucked up his _own_ life, but he wasn’t going to do that to his kid.Having a smoker, even a part-time one, for a dad wasn’t exactly the role model he wanted to be. So when he put out that cigarette in the ashtray that night, it was the last one he’d touched for thirteen years.

Ruining that record didn’t make him feel as guilty as it probably should.In fact, it didn’t make him feel guilty at all.He’d already failed at his goal to _not_ fuck Jason up, what was one more thing?Besides, he wasn’t even here, and Marvin fucking needed this.

They were shitty and disgusting, and he was probably blackening his lungs with tar from the way he was smoking straight through the pack, but at least they reduced the shaking in his fingers, lessened the headache by just enough that it wasn’t unbearable.

It wasn’t like he _wanted_ to do this, it was merely a last resort.He’d tried pretty much everything else before this, it was just none of it worked.And you can only take so much before you get desperate.

Of course, he knew the best solution to this problem was to get some rest.But, well, him and _sleep_ hadn’t been on the best of terms recently.

Everyone had been telling him to go the fuck home and get some rest, but what they didn’t know was that he’d been _trying_ to.Any moron could tell he hadn’t been sleeping, but it was less of an intentional decision and more of a result of his brain being unable to shut up for two minutes in order for the actual action of _falling_ asleep to occur.The last time he’d gotten some shut-eye was when he’d all but blacked out from exhaustion in the visitor’s chair yesterday morning. 

So basically, the only thing currently keeping him on his feet was twenty cups of hospital coffee.His blood must’ve been pure caffeine at this point, and it was hard to tell if the shaking in his hands was because of that or the sleeplessness or the stress.Either way, the three of them combined made for a fucked up physical and mental state.

He’d just lit something like his fifth cigarette in a row when he heard the sound of footsteps approaching from behind him.Marvin glanced over when whoever it was stepped into his peripheral vision. 

Christ, _Mendel._ He should’ve known it was him, probably here to give another speech about the human mind and why sleep is required and why positive thinking was important and blah blah blah.Marvin zoned out every time he tried to preach to him; it was all such _crap._ He had a feeling Mendel was starting to believe it was crap, too.

They stood in silence for a while until Mendel, apropos of nothing as far as Marvin could tell, said, “So.The bar mitzvah.”

Marvin’s gaze flitted over to Mendel.His hands were jammed in his pants pockets, figure hunched.He looked like he needed a smoke too.For an insane moment, Marvin contemplated offering his cigarette to him.

“I haven’t really…” He trailed off, made a vague gesture. “Thought about it much.There’s just been a lot going on.”

Truth be told, he hadn’t spared the bar mitzvah much of a thought since the start of the month.There had been too much else to focus on, that it had taken a backseat for more important things.

Mendel nodded, like he was expecting that response. “We were thinking we should probably ask him about it.If he wants to do it or not.”

“He’d want Whizzer there,” Marvin said bluntly.As Jason’s best - and, alas, _only_ friend, he was at the top of the invite list.He didn’t exactly want to be the person to crush the kid’s dreams by saying that his pal wasn’t gonna make it to his party.

“I -” Mendel’s voice faltered for a second. “I know.That’s the whole problem.”

Marvin sucked on the end of the cigarette in response, the burning momentarily distracting from the direction this conversation was going.God, he _knew_ they had to talk about this at some point, about who would have the task of telling Jason the extent of what exactly was happening to Whizzer and what it meant.It didn’t mean he wanted to have it now, though.

At his lack of response, Mendel went on, fumbling out, “We were wondering if…if we should… or if you wanted to..?” He left it at that.Nothing more really needed to be said for it to be understandable.

Marvin can’t imagine what kind of thought process led to the conclusion that he would _want_ to be the one to break the news.It made him feel _sick._ Although, he didn’t expect that Trina and Mendel were thrilled with the prospect of explaining the concept of death to a twelve-year-old either.It certainly wasn’t a desirable position to be in.

But Marvin knew he couldn’t do it.How the _fuck_ was he supposed to explain that to his kid, when he had barely started accepting it himself?

“I don’t…I don’t know if I…” Marvin shook his head and locked his jaw. “I can’t,” he said flatly, and didn’t look at Mendel to see his reaction.

“…Alright.” The way he said it, the resignation in his voice, made Marvin think he’d been expecting that answer all along. “We’ll do it.It’s just…it’s difficult.Trying to think about how to say it so you get the point across and without hurting him _too_ mu -”

Mendel talked too much. “You’re the psychiatrist, you’ll figure it out,” Marvin said, effectively cutting him off.Mendel closed his mouth and merely nodded.

He resolutely continued to avoid looking over, but Marvin knew Mendel was watching him, _studying_ him.He knew the exact expression he was wearing on his face, too: the _psychoanalyst_ face.The one that picked apart every visible emotion in the subject’s expression.

Marvin resisted the urge to turn away, knowing that it would make it all the more obvious that he was fucked up.Lack of sleep and perpetual anxiety was truly exhausting after a while, and that made it nearly impossible to put on a proper mask of _everything’s great!_ Knowing Mendel could probably read every fucking emotion he was currently feeling made him uncomfortable.

“I can’t imagine this is easy for you, either,” was what Mendel eventually said.

“I’m dealing with it,” Marvin said brusquely, hoping to end this confrontation as quickly as possible.

Mendel nodded, but the condescending look revealed the fact that he thought otherwise. “Even still, it might be easier to talk to someone.”

Marvin snorted. “What, like you?” He shook his head. “What’s there to talk about?”

“Lots of things.” Mendel sighed.The cadence was weary. “Look, I know as well as anyone that losing a loved one isn’t easy.It’s hard even if they’re not as… _close_ as you and Whizzer.” Marvin almost snorted on the careful way he said _close._ “We all know what he means to you -”

“You know shit,” Marvin snapped, voice raw like an exposed nerve.

“ - and we just want to help.”

The words touched him oddly.He didn’t know how he was supposed to feel, or what he was supposed to say.Should he be grateful, for their concern and their offer of help?Or ashamed that they thought he needed it?Marvin put the end of the cigarette in his mouth just so he could have something to bite down on. “I don’t know,” he muttered.

Mendel lifted his hand for a moment, looking as if he were contemplating putting it on Marvin’s shoulder.Then he seemed to think better of it and let it drop to his side again. “Just consider it.”

Marvin took a final drag, smoke searing his throat and lungs.The sting of it made his eyes water, but he wasn’t sure the pain was the sole reason for that.Then he dropped it, crushing it with his heel as he turned away. “Thanks for the Jason thing,” he said as he walked away, faster than he probably needed to. “Appreciate it.”

He heard Mendel say something in response, but Marvin neither listened nor did he stop to acknowledge it.He just power walked inside, making a beeline for the stairwell.He dropped down onto the bottom step as soon as the door banged shut behind him.

His eyes were stinging ferociously, and his chest felt tight, like he couldn’t breathe properly.God, he really _was_ tired.He shouldn’t have got so fucking ridiculously worked up by Mendel saying one thing.He needed a bed _._ And a shower.And some _toothpaste;_ he was still able to taste the cigarette smoke caked on the back of his tongue

Eventually he hauled himself to his feet, set to make the climb up five flights of stairs.He imagined, with no small degree of shame, that Mendel had most likely already arrived at Whizzer’s room.Marvin pictured him telling Whizzer where he’d gone to. _Yeah, your boyfriend is chain-smoking out front and just ran away crying._ The thought is so humiliating that it sends a whole new torrent of tears to his eyes, and he bit down forcefully on his tongue until the feeling went the hell away.

He’d gotten a considerable grip on himself by the time he arrived on Whizzer’s floor, and he advanced up the hall slowly, following the sound of murmuring voices emitting from the room at the end of the hall.

“Bye, Whizzer.” That was Jason’s voice, young and bright and happy.God, he was so unassuming. Jason was a brilliant kid, but he was still a _kid,_ so he didn’t know what any of this really meant.He was gonna be _crushed._

The thought made Marvin stagger slightly, and he paused briefly to lean against the wall and regain his balance, catch his breath.

“See ya, buddy.” Whizzer’s voice this time.He sounded tired and raspy, but enough like himself that it was almost reassuring.

Marvin almost knocked over Jason as he whipped out of the room and walked straight into him.The chess box jolted from where it was tucked under his arm and fell to the floor, the lid popping off, the contents scattering across the tile.

Jason flushed and immediately dropped to his knees, gathering the game pieces as quickly as he could. “Sorry, I -” He looked up, for the first time noticing that it was Marvin he had run into and not some random stranger. “Oh, hi dad.”

Marvin almost laughed at how relieved he sounded. “Hey, Jason.” He knelt beside him and helped in the process of picking up.He asked, “How was your visit?”

“Fine.We played chess for a bit, but then Whizzer got tired so I showed him my baseball cards instead.” Jason paused. “He said it was really cool that I had a Steve Garvey rookie card.”

It was as if Jason was more proud that he’d impressed Whizzer than he was about having that card in the first place.The thought made Marvin smile slightly, even if he had no idea who Steve Garvey was. “That’s great, kid,” he said. “You can come back after school tomorrow, if you want.”

Jason grinned at the prospect.He said, “Okay,” at the same moment as Trina and Mendel joined them in the hall. 

Marvin climbed to his feet, leaving Jason to fit the lid back on the box.While their kid was occupied, Marvin locked eyes with Trina. “So…” he said, trailing off, hoping she’d understand what he was referencing.

Trina nodded slightly, telling him that she knew what the plan was, and the three of them exchanged a grim smile.Jason stood slowly, looking between them, seemingly aware of the tension between the adults - always so perceptive - but didn’t bring it up.Although he did glance over his shoulder uneasily as they headed down the hall to the elevators.

Marvin released a breath, trying to relax his posture as much as possible.He quickly checked out his reflection in the glass fire extinguisher case on the wall, making sure all redness in or around his eyes had gone.Like hell he was gonna let Whizzer see him as anything other than keeping it the fuck together.

Whizzer glanced up at him as he entered, caught mid-yawn. “Sorry,” he said, trying to speak around it. “I just never knew Jason talked so much.”

“Yeah, me neither.” Marvin dropped into the visitor’s chair, already pulled up to the bed.Probably where Jason had been sitting for the past hour. “It’s like when he started baseball he tapped into this unused energy supply.It’s weird.”

“And tiring.” Whizzer grinned.

Marvin smiled a little in return. “Sorry,” he said, though he wasn’t sure exactly what he was apologizing for.

“Nah, it’s okay.I like it.” Whizzer slid lower, almost comically slowly, until he was lying down rather than sitting up. “He’s good company.Always has been.”

The conversation stalled out after that, there being nothing else to really say.After a moment, Marvin scooted closer until his elbows rested on the bed, reaching one hand forward to card his fingers through the hair that had fallen over Whizzer’s forehead.Whizzer leaned into the touch, almost instinctively, before suddenly freezing.His nose wrinkled.

“Have you been smoking?” he accused, and Marvin felt his whole body cringe.What kind of idiot would smoke and immediately snuggle up to a guy with dying lungs? 

Clearly someone like him.

“Uh, yeah.” Marvin winced. “Look, I was gonna shower when I got home.I just wanted to come say bye before I left.”

Whizzer’s face softened slightly, though he still didn’t seem all too happy. “Well, okay,” he said, and smiled with one side of his mouth. “Bye?”

“I’ll be back in the morning,” Marvin promised. “First thing.And I’ll smell better.”

“Oh, goody.” His smile widened more until it looked more genuine. “You stink.”

It was only after Whizzer yawned for the sixth time inside two minutes that Marvin thought it was a good time to make his exit.Let Whizzer get his own rest.He thought, with only a little bitterness, that it was good at least _one_ of them could sleep.

Marvin wasn’t about to put his lips on Whizzer’s mouth after smoking, so he just wrapped his arms around him - a gesture Whizzer happily returned - and kissed the top of his head before releasing him.He had just gotten one foot out the door when Whizzer’s voice called out from behind him.

“And Marv?”

Marvin glanced over his shoulder. “Hmm?”

“Get some sleep, ’kay?” Whizzer said wryly. “Your eye bags look like they’re gonna walk off your face.”

Marvin rolled his eyes. “Fuck off,” he said, despite knowing there was truth in the words.

Whizzer just smiled innocently and leaned back into the pillows, making a _shoo_ motion with his hands.Marvin sighed and shook his head before making his departure, and as he walked out, in his peripheral vision he saw the moment the smile dropped off Whizzer’s face.

The back of his neck prickled until he was out of sight.

**

He had been trying to sleep for over two hours before he came to the conclusion that it probably just wouldn’t happen, not tonight.Despite how goddamn tired his body was, his mind continued to run at a mile a minute, making the entire concept of _sleep_ impossible.

It was so frustrating, the fact that he couldn’t shut his fucking _brain_ off for five minutes, just so he could fall asleep.And he _needed_ sleep, damn it, lest he wanted a complete psychic break.Every day, he could feel himself inching closer to a total meltdown.The scary part was, he didn’t know when it would happen.When he was alone, or when he was around others.He spent pretty much every available moment with Whizzer, and the thought of losing it in front of him - or worse: _at_ him - was terrifying.

Hence the need for some fucking sleep, to prevent that from happening as much as possible.

Marvin made a noise of aggravation, flipping his pillow for the umpteenth time as he tried, yet again, to make himself comfortable.He remained in his new position for a solid minute before he started twitching again and had to readjust.Eventually, he just gave up and pushed himself up onto his elbows.He stared blankly at his pillow, vision blurry.

Marvin had always been something of an insomniac, but never to this degree, never this many nights in a row.It felt like there was a torrent of questions constantly pounding at the front of his skull, ones that targeted his biggest fears and biggest regrets and kept him awake, unable to concentrate on anything else.They only seemed to hit him at night, though, when he was alone and had nothing to distract himself with.

For the most part, it was the usual thoughts about Whizzer.What he was doing, if he was sleeping, if he was lonely, if he was sad.Despite Whizzer’s continued reassurances, telling him to stop worrying, he never found that he could.Not his fault that there was just so much to be worried about. 

A frequent guest among these worries was the idea that Whizzer was in more pain than he let on.Thing was, he knew Whizzer was like him; he preferred to hide how he felt rather than show it, especially concerning negative emotions, especially pain or sadness.Given that no one knew jack about whatever disease he had, no one knew what the general pain levels were of its victims.So it was completely plausible he was hiding the whole truth, to spare Marvin and the others.’Cause sometimes he watched Whizzer and he had this _look_ on his face…

_Shut up,_ Marvin told his brain again.If he laid here and analyzed every one of Whizzer’s facial expressions he’d be here all night.Trying to read an unreadable person was bound to give him a headache worse than the one he already had.

But he didn’t need to be a mind-reader to know Whizzer hated his current predicament.He hated the hospital, hated the sickness, hated the weakness and constant supervision and the amount of help he needed to do basic things.Hated the way people treated him, like he was a piece of glass.Not that Marvin blamed him, but it was still shitty to think about how unhappy he was all the time.

Not that anyone else was particularly happy, either.They were all of varying degrees of miserable.Jason was the only one who really had a shred of real hope left in him, and even that would be destroyed in upcoming days.This really would be the end of his childhood innocence, and having to visit his best friend in the hospital _knowing_ what was coming was too much for a fucking preteen to bear.

It was a terrible thing to feel; knowing that the longer this went on the more scared, stressed, and rotten everyone would feel.Whizzer would inevitably become sicker, feel shittier than he already did.Maybe it’d be better for them all, especially Whizzer, if this ended faster.But that’d mean letting him go, and Marvin wasn’t ready to do that. 

He’d never be, that was the truth.And it was sickening, wanting to spend as much time as possible with Whizzer, but not knowing if it was worth making him suffer through the pain and everything else he hated.

And then there was his biggest fear, the one that made everything else seem trivial by comparison.The main reason for all his sleepless nights, the reason he loathed leaving Whizzer alone, for any reason. 

_What if he dies when I’m not there?_

Even worse than the general concept of _Whizzer dying,_ is the thought of him dying _alone._ Just the concept of him going _without_ him there, in the middle of the night, or when he’s getting coffee or something stupid, is so fucking terrifying that it kept him on edge, just _waiting_ for the phone call from the hospital telling him Whizzer was already gone.

Marvin couldn’t _not_ be there; he’d never forgive himself.

_What if it’s tonight?What if it’s right now?_

Now that the thought was in his head, it wasn’t leaving.It burrowed into him, infecting every inch of his brain, tightening his throat and chest in a vice grip of increasingly intense panic.His mind was racing, an almost incomprehensible litany of _what if what if what if._

Before he could think things through, maybe come to a calm, rational decision, he lurched out of bed and immediately began pulling on whatever clothes were within reach - without Whizzer’s presence, the bedroom had slowly but surely become a war zone once again - and tore out the door to the parking garage, only pausing for a moment to grab his jacket and keys.

The trip to the hospital took twenty minutes longer than usual, thanks to a four-car pileup on the freeway that blocked two of the three lanes.He wasn’t counting on there being _traffic_ at one in the morning, and he tapped his fingers impatiently on the steering wheel, fiddled with the knobs on the stereo.With every passing second, panic tightened his chest more and more, until he felt like he might literally pass out if this jam didn’t clear up _right the fuck now._

At last, he passed the site of the accident, and all three lanes freed up once again.He sped the rest of the way to the hospital - probably not wise considering the plethora of police cars behind him.He never thought he’d be happy to see the sight of the hospital in the distance, but he breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the tall, grey building looming above him in the skyline.

He knew no running was allowed in the hospital, but he seriously tested his luck as he sped-walked through the corridors as quickly as humanly possible _without_ going at a speed that could be classified as _running._ Luckily, no security guards side-tackled him on the way to Whizzer’s room on the fifth floor.

Marvin burst in the room in such a frenzy it was a miracle Whizzer didn’t jolt awake then and there.He didn’t.He was still, face turned away from the door.Despite the vital signs showing clear as day on the machine screens, Marvin still wasn’t reassured until he walked up to him and saw the movements of Whizzer’s chest himself, hear the breaths rasping through his slightly parted lips.

At that, all the adrenaline drained out of him in an instant, and he all but collapsed into the visitor’s chair, relief turning his knees into water.He put his face in his hands, curled his fingers into his hair and tugged, the vice around his chest finally breaking off.It felt like he could breathe properly again, knowing that everything was okay.

Well, not _okay._ But not a total calamity yet.He’d take what he could get.

On the bed, Whizzer shifted and made a quiet noise. _Fuck,_ he was waking up, and Marvin wasn’t near put-together enough to talk to him.But it looked like he had no choice, because in the next second Whizzer’s groggy voice was cutting through the air.

“Thought you went home,” he mumbled.

“I did.” Marvin lifted his head, but kept it hidden enough that his face wasn’t completely visible. “Couldn’t stay.”

“Why?”

Marvin shrugged.

Out of the corner of his vision, he saw Whizzer rolling onto his side, to look at him closer. “Seriously, why?”

“Just drop it, okay?” Marvin was definitely not about to have this conversation, the concept of admitting the events of the past half-hour that had just transpired due to his inexplicable panicking far too humiliating to even consider. “It’s fine.It doesn’t even matter.”

Whizzer frowned. “You know you can tell -”

“I _said_ to drop it,” Marvin snapped suddenly, just _needing_ this conversation to be over.He wanted to fall asleep, maybe holding Whizzer’s hand as he did it, and postpone his inevitable breakdown by just another day. “I don’t wanna talk about it, stop fucking _pushing_ me.”

An eerie silence echoed in response to his words.Almost immediately, he regretted his embarrassing lack of inhibition, the inability to control his tongue for once.Guilt curled in his stomach; this was exactly what he wanted to avoid; snapping at someone who didn’t deserve the brunt of his anger.The fact that Whizzer wasn’t saying anything didn’t help matters any.

Marvin reached up blindly, fumbling until his fingers wrapped around Whizzer’s wrist. “Sorry,” he said. “For being an asshole.” He swallowed. “I was cold.And lonely.That’s why I came back.” It wasn’t the whole truth, but he wasn’t ready to say it.Not completely.

At last, he forced himself to meet Whizzer’s eyes.He was looking at Marvin sadly, and the pity in his face almost winded him. _Not Whizzer too._ He could deal with those looks from everyone else, but he didn’t know if he could handle it, if he also got them from _Whizzer._

He couldn’t have anticipated what Whizzer said next. “You could always, y’know, jack off,” Whizzer murmured suggestively. “It’d probably warm you up fast.”

Marvin nearly choked on a surprised bark of laughter. _Of course_ he’d diffuse the heavy situation with an inane comment - it was just who Whizzer _was._

“I could try it,” he conceded, still laughing a little. “Can’t have my dick exploding ’cause I’m not getting any release.” It was such a gross thing to say that it was part funny, part horrifying.His brain wasn’t fucking working properly, and the relief of how _he’s here he’s alive he’s laughing he’s with me_ was turning him slightly hysterical.

“Can’t have that,” Whizzer echoed, smiling at him.

It was that sweet little smile he reserved only for Marvin, or sometimes Jason.And only in certain circumstances, like when they were sad and in need of comfort.It made Marvin a little sick, that Whizzer thought _he_ was the one who needed comforting.That, combined with the fact that it was the first genuine smile he’d seen Whizzer wear in the whole time he’d been here, sent a flood of unbidden tears to his eyes.

He lowered his head a fraction to hurriedly scrub them away.He was tired, he reasoned to himself, so tired, and it was making him overemotional.That was all.But even as he thought that, the tears just kept fucking _coming,_ relentlessly replacing the ones he’d been wiping away.Finally, he just gave up and put his face back in his hands with a quiet groan.

The way Whizzer’s hand gently cupped the back of his head _really_ didn’t help the process of _keeping it the fuck together_ , and he nearly swallowed his tongue in the effort to keep from whimpering at the touch.

A long, silent minute passed before Whizzer said, “Y’know, um, if you’re not gonna go home tonight…” His fingers tightened in Marvin’s hair. “You might as well sleep here.”

Marvin lifted his head, dragged a hand down his face.He hoped Whizzer wouldn’t comment on the redness of his eyes. “Was planning on it,” he mumbled. “I’m fucking tired.”

He went to drag the visitor’s chair closer, so he could lean more over the bed, but hesitated when Whizzer made a disapproving noise. “Not in the _chair._ Come on.”

God, he _wished._ The chair was a _killer_ on his back.He’d felt it each time he’d fallen asleep in it previously.Even still - “No offence, but I’m not seeing anywhere else to sleep,” he said, making a show of looking all around the small room. “Unless you mean the floor.”

Whizzer rolled his eyes. “The _bed,_ stupid.”

Marvin raised his head hopefully. “It’s not big enough for two people,” he half-heartedly protested, despite how much he wanted to accept the offer.He was kind of worried that he would somehow shove Whizzer off the bed when he was asleep and break his neck or something.

Whizzer grinned cheekily. “Not if you sit on my lap.”

Oh.Well, then.Without another word of protest Marvin kicked off his shoes and crawled into the bed.Whizzer was patting his lap in invitation, but Marvin shook his head. “Just ’cause we’re _here_ doesn’t mean everything has to change.Come here.”

Whizzer sighed in something like disappointment, but didn’t complain.He scooted over and slung one arm over Marvin’s torso, rested his head on his shoulder, until they were settled into their usual sleeping position.It was nice, to finally feel something familiar among all this messed up, backwards shit.It was also a relief to know he wasn’t going to crush Whizzer tonight by sitting on top of him.He was so spindly now it probably wouldn’t take much effort to break a bone or two.

Whizzer sighed, and he sounded content.At least there was that. “Lonely anymore?”

“Nope.” Marvin tried not to think about the fact that this was the first time in weeks they’d been in the same bed.That it would probably be one of the last times.

“Good.I could always help if you still find the need to jerk it, by the way,” Whizzer added deviously, smirk pressed into the side of Marvin’s neck. “I’m sure I could give you a hand.”

Marvin sighed long-sufferingly. “Go to sleep, idiot.”

“You first.You’re the insomniac, right?” Whizzer pulled his head back a little to look at him.His mouth was twisted upward in that horrible not-smile, and Marvin was struck by how sad he looked. “Stop worrying and go to sleep.I’m not…going anywhere.”

Telling Marvin to _stop worrying_ was about as effective as trying to put out the sun with a bucket of water.He swallowed and said, “I’ll try,” anyway.

Whizzer sighed. “Me too.” And before Marvin could attempt to decipher what exactly _Whizzer_ was worrying about, Whizzer leaned forward and kissed him gently on the mouth. “Night.Love you.”

Marvin blinked in surprise.Even after all this time, the words still shook him a little. “Yeah, love you too.”

Whizzer offered one last small smile before lowering his head again and falling asleep without any more preamble.

Marvin, at long last, felt like he could do the same.He felt warm and familiar, and the _what ifs_ in his mind, if not vanished completely, had muted considerably since he’d arrived.Feeling more relaxed than he had in ages, he fell asleep to the feeling of Whizzer’s chest rising and falling against his own.

**

The next morning, Marvin woke up feeling better than he had in ages.That was until he tried to move his head and came to discover the horrific kink in his neck.The fluorescent overhead lights practically blinded him as he opened his eyes, and he sat up, shielding his face with one hand and rubbing at his seemingly broken neck with the other.

Whizzer was sitting at the end of the bed, legs dangling off the edge, frantically scribbling away at a piece of notebook paper on his lap.Marvin squinted at him. “G’morning?”

Whizzer jerked at the sound of his voice. “Morning,” he said, turning. “Sleep good?”

“Mhmm,” Marvin said absently, leaning forward so as to make out what was written on the page, an arduous task given Whizzer’s practically illegible handwriting. “What’s that?”

Covering the page protectively with one hand, Whizzer said, “A letter.” As Marvin slid closer, he flipped it so the words were fully hidden from view. “ _And_ it’s none of your business.”

“What, is it your final confession?Did you murder someone and never tell me?”

“Sure did.” He paused, tapping his fingers against his leg thoughtfully. “Next time you’re out, could you bring me an envelope?”

“Only if tell me what it’s about.”

Whizzer rolled his eyes, but lifted his hands in defeat. “Fine, fine.But later.” He began folding the page methodically until he was gripping a tight square in the palm of his hand.

“Making me wait, huh?”

“Given how many times you’ve made _me_ wait, it’s just payback.”

Marvin’s expression must’ve been scandalized, because Whizzer laughed.However, the sound was cut off by a series of dry, hoarse coughs that quickly delved into a fit.Marvin immediately jolted off the bed to his feet, terrified he’d done something to bring this on or was causing him discomfort in anyway.

It wasn’t that coughing fits were uncommon nowadays - they were starting to come with more and more frequency (and ferocity) as time went on.They had discovered soon after his admission to the hospital that _croup_ was a main symptom of…of whatever this illness was.But no matter how common they were, it never ceased to be scary to watch Whizzer’s lungs betray him like that, to watch him suffer through another fit of forceful, uncontrollable coughs that left him breathless and sweating and completely sapped of energy.And it was scary to know there was no real way to help, other than wait it out and offer water after it was done.

After what was probably under a minute, but felt like much longer, the coughs receded.They came less violently, and with more space between them, until the fit ended entirely.A beat passed before Whizzer drew in a shuddering breath.He exhaled it on a heavy sigh, the noise conveying frustration more than anything else, and let his hand fall from his mouth to the bed.

“It’s fine,” he said, voice wrecked like his throat was full of gravel. “I’m fine.” He glanced up at Marvin, frozen like a deer in the headlights, staring at him. “Christ, sit _down.”_ He patted the empty space on the bed with more aggression than was probably necessary.

He still looked rigid and pale, like any second he would burst into another round of raucous coughs.Marvin fretted on his bottom lip. “Do you need any -”

“I need you to _sit the fuck down,”_ he growled in a voice that didn’t even sound like his own.Then he coughed again, completely negating his earlier point about how fine he was.

“Whizzer,” Marvin said quietly.

For a second, it looked like Whizzer would carry on pretending that all was fine.But all at once, his anger vanished and his expression crumpled a bit. “Can I -” He cleared his throat. “Water?”

The cup on the side table was half-full and probably lukewarm, but Marvin obligingly handed it over anyway.Whizzer drank it silently, and once he was done he held out the empty glass, slumping back into the pillow as soon as Marvin took it from him.He didn’t move other than a repetitive tensing and untensing of his jaw, staring at the wall blankly.

Marvin carefully sat down at the edge of the bed, unsure exactly what he should do in this circumstance.He didn’t know what would comfort him or set him off again.He hated not knowing what to fucking do.

The mattress creaked and Whizzer’s gaze flicked in his direction, as if he’d forgotten he wasn’t alone in the room. “Sorry,” he said, voice devoid of emotion.

“It’s okay,” Marvin said, and left it at that.He knew better than to ask if _Whizzer_ was okay.

Whizzer either didn’t hear or simply ignored him, because Marvin’s response went unacknowledged.He was fiddling with the paper in his lap, picking at the edges distractedly.

“It’s for you,” Whizzer said suddenly, breaking through the otherwise silence of the room.At Marvin’s questioning look he held up the paper between two fingers in response.

“For me?” And maybe that wasn’t so surprising.Who else could he be writing to?

“Yep.”

“And I don’t get to _read_ it?”

Whizzer rolled his eyes in exasperation. “Jeez, how many times do I gotta say _later?”_ He leaned over to place the pen and paper on the bedside table before giving Marvin a meaningful look. “I can’t give it to you yet,” he explained. “It’s not done.”

Marvin frowned. “Soon, though?”

“Yeah,” Whizzer said, the look on his face unreadable. “Maybe.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tumblr: bussywhizzer.  
> also. do you hate me for that last line?


	10. something solid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a visit from jason...and a certain letter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HA it's been ages hasn't it? I'm honestly really sorry for how long I took to write this - school was REALLY kicking my ass for the first few months. happy to say all's well irl so I can finally post this!! thanks to everyone who read and left kudos/comments. they mean a lot to me. cheers!!!!  
> hopefully the ending's satisfactory, after making you wait so long ;)

Friday, the promise of Jason’s visit, looms over him, and Marvin is fucking terrified.

He’s never been this worked up over seeing his son before, not even immediately after Marvin had slapped his mother right before his eyes, shattering into smithereens whatever little remained of his innocence in one fell swoop.

Marvin’s come to know that ever since Jason was little, all Marvin’s managed to do is fuck him over.He’s taken, ruined, and destroyed for as far back as he can remember.And he hadn’t meant to.That’s the worst part, when he looks back on all he’s done wrong and knows that he never wanted to be so awful — that it wasn’t for lack of trying, there’s just something fundamentally rotten about him.

When he had learned that he was going to be a father, the one think he vowed to himself was that he was never going to let his future child become like him: a lonely, miserable prick.Of course, that dream had turned to dust at about the same time that Jason learned his father fucked around with men behind his mother’s back, and had been doing so for years.

Sure, Marvin’s changed since then, and has been trying to improve even more thus far, but he can’t help but feel it’s too late.He sometimes looks at Jason and just sees that he’s managed to create a carbon-copy of himself; a sullen degenerate for a new generation.The one thing he wanted to avoid.The one measly goal he’d set for himself as a father was to not ruin his kid’s life and he’s afraid he already has.

Occasionally he fantasizes about how things might’ve been different if Jason had been raised by different parents.If it would have changed something, anything.Did Jason start out as an positive, optimistic kid only to have his outlook and spirit ruined by the toxicity of his upbringing, or was he doomed from the start, his respective parents’ family trees and their tendencies toward neurosis passed down via genetics and ruining his life before it could even begin?

Maybe the genetic predisposition was unavoidable, but Marvin figures it couldn’t have hurt to have been raised in a different household, where his parents actually loved each other and stayed together, where his father wasn’t a moody asshole who barely spoke to him and his mother wasn’t manic and unhealthily dependant upon him.Maybe it would’ve been different if Jason’s father wasn’t a homo, if Jason’s father didn’t hit his mother, if Jason’s father had not repeatedly and unrepentantly fucked up to only change his ways after ten years had already gone by.

Jason’s only thirteen — and barely that — and Marvin’s been failing him for most of, if not all of, his life.He used to wonder why Jason could ever hate him.He thinks he understands now.

It’s both ironic and depressing how Marvin’s only managed to fail the two people he’s ever loved the most.He loved Whizzer for a long time but had never managed to show it properly until a few months before his death.He has always been proud of Jason but has _never_ been able to show it properly.But…

He _had_ managed to fix things with Whizzer before he had died.Six months was all it took; less than that, really.Making peace with Jason is not completely off the table.Even if he’s not sure how much time he’s got left himself, if what Charlotte said to him was true.

It’s too early to think about that. _Later._

Jason should be there by four thirty which gave him a solid hour after work to clean up the disaster zone his place has become.And maybe they’ll do something this weekend together; Marvin thinks he might die of a vitamin D deficiency if he doesn’t get out more.Or maybe they won’t, and just stay in, but either way it will be fine.They’ll get through it.

He’s trying.And maybe, like Whizzer had said, that’s enough.

*

Four thirty comes and goes, and then five, and it’s almost six when Jason finally shows up.

At first, Marvin’s relieved — he was a few minutes away from phoning Trina to make sure their son hadn’t been abducted on the bus or hadn’t changed his mind about coming over in the first place.Then it really hits him that _Jason is here_ and in an instant the anxiety is back, wrapping around him like a vice.He spends the seven seconds it takes to walk down the hall to the foyer talking himself down from a panic attack.

Jason’s standing at the door, sliding his backpack off his shoulders as he kicks his hightops into the corner.He looks up as Marvin approaches, face blank.

“Hey, bud,” Marvin says.At least his voice sounds normal.He smiles and hopes it doesn’t look like a grimace. “How was school?”

Jason blinks at him. “Okay.”

Well, shit, now what does he do?Whizzer was always better at this.He could just start talking, about anything, and it would never be awkward at all.

“You’re kinda late,” he eventually thinks to say. “I was getting a little worried.”

“Oh, sorry.I had drama club,” Jason tells him, and Marvin’s first thought is _thank god_ because for a while there he genuinely did think Jason was late just because he wanted to avoid him.

Then it hits him fully. _Drama club._

“Drama club?” he clarifies.

Jason nods, rocking on his heels, looking awfully uncomfortable. “Yeah, I joined a bit ago.I, uh —” He looks away briefly. “Forgot to tell you.Meetings are after school.”

Does it mean Marvin’s a shitty dad if he hadn’t known that?If he hadn’t known Jason had an interest in drama at all?It’s been so long since he’s seen him, even longer since they’ve had a proper conversation.

“That’s cool,” Marvin tells him.Then, “Do you like it?”

Jason nods. “Yeah, it’s okay.I mean, there haven’t been a lot of meetings yet.”

That’s right, it’s only October.Christ, Marvin’s almost completely forgotten that school only started two months ago.He’s not had much opportunity to think about how Jason’s in eighth grade, his last year of middle school; he had been too preoccupied with Whizzer being in the hospital all of September.

“Right, well.” God, this is so fucking awkward. “Tell me how it goes, alright?”

“Sure, dad.”

Jason walks past him into the living room, Marvin following behind him. “So, uh,” he begins. “About dinner—”

Jason abruptly stops and Marvin near about stumbles right into him.A beat passes between them. “You cleaned up his stuff,” Jason says, voice low, and Marvin’s stomach plummets.

He’s been here two minutes and already he’s gonna talk about Whizzer?Marvin’s not fucking ready for _that._ But Jason’s never been one to shy away from tough subjects, so he honestly doesn’t know why he didn’t expect it.

He swallows, says, “Yeah, I did.”

“Why?” There’s accusation in his tone, and Marvin can’t stand it.

“Because I — I had to pick it up eventually.” He assumes Jason’s talking about all of Whizzer’s magazines and shoes and sunglasses, all of which had remained in the places he’d left them weeks ago before Marvin cleared them away to make space for his guest today. “But I didn’t throw them away,” he’s quick to add.He wouldn’t.He _couldn’t;_ they’re in a pile on his bed that he’ll sort out later, when he’s alone and free to have one or ten breakdowns without anyone seeing.

Jason’s shoulders slump in relief. “Oh, okay, I thought—” He stops, sounding like he might cry. “Forget it,” he amends. “Sorry I said anything, just…what’s for dinner?” His voice is quick, desperate to change the subject.

If Marvin was a better person and father he’d press the issue, get Jason to open up about what’s bothering him.But he sure is fucking neither of those things, and jumps at the opportunity to talk about something else.The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, apparently.

“Okay, well.I’m gonna be honest, I don’t actually have much food,” he says. ‘Shopping’ was something he hadn’t managed to accomplish that afternoon. “So I was thinking…takeout?” Like that’s new for him. “I could grab some stuff from a place up the street.”

“Okay, sure,” Jason’s quick to say.He walks over to the couch and plops down on the side that’s become unofficially designated as _his_ over the last few years. “I’ll just wait here.”

His back is ramrod straight, the tell-tale sign that he’s upset.Marvin stares at him a moment, opening and shutting his mouth because he _knows_ he should say something, _anything_ , but he doesn’t know what.He wouldn’t know where to begin, what he would do in comfort. 

Dealing with his own feelings is difficult enough.Navigating those of his thirteen-year-old kid?Seems nearly impossible. 

“Sure,” is what he eventually says.The word tastes bitter in his mouth, like defeat and shame. “I’ll be back in fifteen.”

Jason nods, the movement erratic in his over-enthusiasm.Marvin watches him a moment longer, something painful tightening his throat.He’s not felt this useless in a while, and _hates_ it, and knows he needs to do something about it.

But he’s a coward, always has been, and feeling more than a little sick, he walks out the door without another word.

*

Fifteen minutes and ten bucks later, Marvin returns home with two bags of stuff from the Chinese place up the street.Jason’s not on the couch where he’d left him, the TV still off.

Marvin dumps the food on the kitchen table and goes to collect him from his room, where he’s probably gone to listen to music or sort his baseball cards or brood sullenly.He’s about to push open the door to his room when something across the hall — in Marvin’s own bedroom — catches his eye.He turns in its direction.

Jason’s standing by the bed, surveying but not touching the pile of Whizzer’s stuff leaning against the headboard.Hanging off his shoulders, in all it’s sleek, black leather glory, is Whizzer’s leather jacket.

Marvin leans against the doorjamb about the same time as Jason looks up.He jumps, reaching to pluck the speakers of his Walkman from his ears.

“Hey, dad,” he says, looking somewhat nervous. “Didn’t hear you come back.”

“Hey, Jason.” His voice sounds a bit funny. “Why’re you…” He can’t seem to make himself say _why’re you in here?_ or _why’re you wearing that?_ without sounding mad.Because he’s not mad, truly, just…confused. 

The thing is, that jacket was shoved in the back of the closet, had been ever since Marvin had come back from the funeral, saw it on the back of a kitchen chair, and realized he just couldn’t fucking see it anymore.So he had stuffed it away into the depths of his closet, so hidden that unless someone went explicitly looking for it, they wouldn’t have found it.

Jason seems to understand what he’s trying to get at, because he reaches up to grab the sleeve of the jacket as if he’d forgotten he was wearing it.At first, he doesn’t say anything, but then he’s speaking, rapidly, the words tripping over themselves in their haste to get out of his mouth.

“Okay, um, this will sound really stupid but when you said you cleared out his stuff I get really worried because I thought you meant you, like, _threw it out_ or something, and then you said you didn’t but I had to check, ’cause I needed to make sure—”

“Jason.” Marvin puts a hand on Jason’s shoulder. “Take a breath, alright?Slow down.You’re rambling.”

He’s not sure where this allayer of calmness is coming from, because inside he’s feeling anything but.He kind of wants to slam his fist on the figurative panic button and run, because _this conversation is really happening_ and he’s not really sure he’s ready for it.

But Marvin’s failed Jason enough in his life, and it’s honestly the least he could do to listen to what he has to say.Even if it hurts.After all, _communication is the most important step in any relationship_.Another Mendel-ism.The man _can_ give decent advice once in a blue moon.

Marvin asks him, “Wanna try that again?”

Jason takes a deep breath and starts to speak, slower. “I thought you might’ve tossed out all his stuff,” he explains. “And, um…Whizzer said I could have his jacket, so I was worried you’d…so I came to find it.”

Whizzer had never told him that.He’d never written a will, or done anything about his stuff save telling Marvin _all my stuff is yours, ’kay?_ “When did he say that?” Marvin asks under his breath, sounding more disbelieving than he actually intends.

Jason’s eyes widen. “You weren’t there,” he says hurriedly. “You were at work, it was just us two, and he said, um.” He pauses, looking mildly embarrassed to be repeating it. “He said that he was worried about his clothes because you had ‘all the fashion sense of a Neanderthal’.”

Marvin barks out a laugh, but it comes out sounding a bit more like a sob.Jason grins shakily.

“He said he wanted me to have it, ’cause you’d have his other clothes and stuff, but this was his favourite thing and wanted someone to take care of it.” Marvin doesn’t say anything and Jason’s eyes widen slightly. “Is that okay?”

Truthfully, he doesn’t know if it is.The jacket is too long, baggy on Jason, the sleeves hanging past his skinny wrists, and just _seeing_ it again stalls the breath in Marvin’s lungs because it’s just so _Whizzer_.

It’s the essence of his character, if it could be defined by one object.Sexy, fashionable, _rebellious_.The article of clothing Whizzer had valued above anything else, save perhaps his cufflinks.He’d even stitched the inside pocket, the embroidery that read _WHIZZER BROWN 1975_ in purple thread, something he’d done the day he found it in a thrift store because he knew _he’d never like a piece of clothing more, ever._

And maybe it’s unbelievably selfish of him to not want anyone else to have it, for it to remain untouched, pristine in the back of his closet til the day he dies, just so it can remain _Whizzer’s Jacket_ forever.

Marvin _is_ selfish, it’s something he’s always known.But this is Whizzer he’s talking about, and Jason, and if he could ever be selfless for anyone, it would be them.

If this is Whizzer’s request, so be it, he’ll honour that and respect it.

“Of course it’s okay, kid.” His voice is thick.He hopes Jason doesn’t mind. “As long as you take care of it, and I know you will, it’s yours.”

Jason nods solemnly.He looks too much like Marvin when he does that. “I will,” he promises, and Whizzer’d definitely made the right decision, entrusting Jason with it.He knows.Jason then looks down at himself, inspecting the jacket by the way it hangs from his frame, and sheepishly says, “It’s kinda big, though.”

“Eh, you’ll grow into it,” Marvin says, subtly wiping at his eyes.  Then, remembering how Whizzer was six-foot-three and Jason was unlikely to even hit _six_ with his family’s genetics, he adds, “Maybe.”

Jason laughs, a little raw, like he’s trying out something he hasn’t done for a while.Then he surprises Marvin by stepping forward and wrapping his arms around him.Marvin happily reciprocates the gesture, smiling into his kid’s hair.If they can have talks like this, maybe there’s hope for them after all.

“Thanks, dad,” Jason says.

“Don’t thank me, kid,” is what he tells him, because it’s not really _him_ who gave the jacket, now was it?

They stand there for a while, silently.There’s something special about it, almost sacred.It’s not full of sorrow or hopelessness, the hold on each other not desperate.There’s still pain, sure, and it will probably always be there, but there’s something new there, too.

Eventually, he steps back, the moment slowly passing.A strange smirk crosses his face as he looks down at Jason.

“Drama club?” he says again, and Jason makes a face. “Sorry, but I never really took you for a drama type of guy.”

“Yeah, well.” Jason looks away, and he honest to god _blushes._ “I maybe only joined ’cause there’s this really pretty girl in it.”

Marvin laughs, full bodied for the first time in weeks. “God, should’ve expected it.Which one is it this time?Heather What’s-Her-Name?”

“Oh, no.Angelina.” Jason smiles, and immediately looks embarrassed. “She’s pretty,” he explains. 

_This is fucking adorable,_ Marvin notes with the kind of delight one can only get from discovering one of their kids’ crushes.And it’s nice, that feeling.It sets something warm and light loose inside him. 

“You can tell me about it at dinner,” he says, nudging Jason toward the door. “Come on, I got us Chinese.”

They eat their dinner, and spend the rest of the evening watching the first Star Wars in the living room.It’s not the same as it was; it can’t be.There’s still something fragile, timid, between them; it would be impossible to _not_ have it, after everything.But it’s enough for one night, at least.Baby steps.

Before bed, Jason gives Marvin the jacket, and he hangs it on the hook by the front door.

*

A few days later, he’s hanging around the girls’ place after dinner, when Charlotte says they have something to give him.

“We’ve been meaning to a while,” she explains, “just…the time’s never been right.” She glances at Cordelia, who nods almost imperceptibly. “I think it’s a good a time as any right now, though.”

“…what is it?” Marvin says.They’re making him a little nervous, if he’s being honest.

In lieu of an answer, Cordelia gets to her feet, and with a quick promise of “be right back” she disappears down the hall, presumably to their bedroom.Charlotte scoots closer to him on the couch, eyeing him unreadably.

“Be honest.” Marvin can’t look at her; he focuses on a section of blank beige wall behind the TV. “Will I like this?”

It takes her a moment to respond.The only sounds are Cordelia banging around, rummaging through drawers and such down the hall. “Depends,” she eventually says. “You might, after some thought.”

Before he can question what she means by that, Cordelia makes her return.She stops in front of him, and with a quick, assuring glance at her girlfriend, presents Marvin with something she’d been previously been holding behind her back.

It’s a crinkled white envelope, and Marvin’s own name is scribbled on the side in terribly familiar handwriting.An ugly drawing is beneath it, a crude rendition of a stick man, complete with big hair and a racquet in hand.

_Oh, god._ With a sort of manic energy, Marvin tears open the back of the envelope and yanks out its contents; several pages of notebook paper, folded tightly.As he carefully smooths out the creases, he finds himself faced with lines upon lines of Whizzer’s messy chicken-scratch.

The fucking letter.The one he’d be writing in the hospital.

He looks over at his friends, who are watching him expectantly. “He gave it to us,” Cordelia says, “a couple days before the bar mitzvah.He said to wait a while after he died before giving it to you.When ‘the time was right’, whatever that means.”

Fucking Whizzer, the cryptic bastard.Marvin scans the first line and already feels his throat tighten.His free hand fiddles anxiously with the collar of his shirt, blinking hard.

Charlotte picks up on it and says, “We can leave if you want.If you need some privacy.”

He loves his friends so much.His thoughtful, kind, amazing friends.He’s put them through shit these last few weeks. _They were Whizzer’s friends, too._ “No,” he says, “no.You should stay.”

They nod and unanimously inch closer to him on either side, cocooning him between their warmth and love and support.And there’s no better time to suck in a deep breath, steel himself, and begin to read.

_To my dearest Mr Marvin:_

_To be honest, I don’t really know what I’m doing here.I just feel like this is something I need to do._ _I want to leave you something that’s_ _I want you to have something that’s from me, so you can read it when I’m not around anymore.And you can burn it or something if you hate this, but please just read it before you do anything else, got it?_

_This isn’t gonna be a big thing where I confess to a murder or some heavy shit.And it’s not gonna be something where I confess my love to you because, let’s be honest, you already know that.So I’m gonna stick to the stuff you don’t._

_The big truth is I’m scared.I’m gonna die.It’s the big D word that everyone talks about and honestly?It’s about as scary as they say.I dunno what’s gonna happen after and it’s kind of terrifying.This isn’t supposed to make you feel bad, obviously, but when you’re writing a letter to someone with the intention of them reading it after you die it’s a pretty huge wake-up call.I guess you gotta die sometime.That’s what I keep saying to myself.And it sucks that I’m going so early but maybe this earth couldn’t handle my amazing presence any longer and had to get rid of me because I was growing too powerful._ _Too much?_

_My biggest hope is that I get to watch you all from above.Like you’re a soap opera, and I get to throw popcorn at you whenever you make stupid decisions or publicly embarrass yourselves without me around to prevent it._

_I’m serious, though.I’m gonna miss a lot of stuff and I want to see it in any way I can.I wanna see Jason graduate and get married and Charlotte and Cordelia get married and see Trina and Mendel have a baby together and a lot of other things.It shits that I can’t be there for them in person but maybe it’s enough if my ghost self is there, watching it all happen._

_So basically, as you read this, I’m hopefully reading it over your shoulder with you.And maybe you’ll keep my presence in mind on the days you want to get hammered or cry in the shower or lie in bed and never get up.There’s Charlotte and Cordelia and Trina and Mendel, they’ll always be there for you.Don’t shut them out.They love you too.And don’t forget about Jason, either.He needs you.You’re always gonna be his dad, his number one.Don’t forget that._

_I’m not saying don’t grieve for me.I’m a selfish fuck, and a lot of me_ _wants_ _you to grieve for and miss me, but don’t do it forever.Go outside, maybe get laid, I don’t know, but just try to be happy.Don’t forget me, that’s all I ask, but for the love of god don’t be miserable for the rest of your life._

_Here’s another truth: I love the shit out of you.You already knew that, but I still feel I have to say it.Even when you’re being stupid and annoying and whatever, I do.Don’t forget that I love you, ever.I love you more than I thought was possible for me to love anyone. That used to scare me.It doesn’t anymore, though.I’d say I hoped you feel the same but I know you do.I really do.Don’t worry that I don’t know.You probably are so here’s your reminder that I KNOW._

_Hopefully I’ll see you again, but make sure it’s not too soon.I don’t want to see you for another fifty years or more, so I get to laugh my ghostly ass off at Old Man Marvin, with your grey hair and wrinkles and all that shit, and you can tell me about your life and how fucking happy it was even though I wasn’t in it.That’s all I want.You deserve to be happy._

_You make_ _me_ _happy.That’s the biggest truth.Thank you._

_Whizzer._

_P.S. Again!!! If you_ _must_ _get rid of my clothes it better be to a charity otherwise I’m burning the entire apartment complex to the ground._

Marvin touches Whizzer’s name, the loopy, half-cursive, half-printed scrawl at the bottom of the page, so gently that it’s almost reverent.

The letter is just so _him,_ all his charm and snark and crude humour intermingled with the underlying sweetness and sentimentality he always tried to hide.It’s undeniably, absolutely everything _Whizzer._ And it’s exactly how he’d want to be remembered.

And god, if he isn’t grateful for being the one Whizzer decided to open his heart up to, in the end.

“You okay?” Charlotte’s voice tears him from his thoughts.He glances at her, and when he can’t make out the expression on her face, he realizes belatedly that he’s crying.He doesn’t know when he started, probably when he first started reading, but there’s no use in trying to pin that down because he _is._

His lack of response seems to tell the girls everything, because without a word they slip closer until he’s squeezed between them so tightly he might suffocate.Something in his chest crumbles like a card tower in a hurricane, and suddenly he’s burying his face into one of their shoulders (he can’t tell who) as three weeks’ worth of tears and sobs pour out all at once.His eyes itch and burn, tears too hot as they sheet down his cheeks, and every part of him aches ferociously.

And even still.He feels _lighter._

There’s pain, still, and it’ll probably never disappear; will only become dull with time.It’ll be something he carries with him for however long he has left, as a throbbing bruise instead of the deep, ragged cut it is now.Already, Marvin feels the changes, like the corners of that cut are slowly closing, like reading this letter is the first step towards acceptance.He’ll just need to figure out the next ones on his own.

So yeah, he’s sad and aching, but he’s happy, too.He’d made _Whizzer_ happy in the end.It was the only thing he’d ever wanted to do.Knowing that, and everything else, maybe Marvin _can_ be okay after all.

It’ll do for now.

*

In the months to come, he’ll see Dream Whizzer again.It’s the same scene every time: Whizzer, sitting in someplace sunny, the light shining on his face so bright his features blur, his dark hair turning practically gold.He’s silent, unmoving, almost statuesque in his stillness.His eyes faraway, focused on a distant point, watchful.

Waiting for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and that's it!!! I'm honestly pretty sad about how it's done. once again, thanks to everyone who read/kudo'd/commented :D

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: swayinginphosphorescence :)


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